Life of a Thief
by ClaireDuhBear
Summary: Callista grew up on the streets after her parents mysteriously Now eighteen years old, struggling to survive a strange disease, and excelling in the art of thievery, she eventually finds herself in It is here that the girl finds herself surrounded by fellow thieves, unlikely friends, and a certain legendary Rated T: violence
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: *Hey you guys! I hope you enjoy! This is my first time putting any of my work online, and it is definitely not my best material. XD**

**Feel free to leave comments on how I could make it better or if you want me to write more.  
**

**If people are actually enjoying this, then I will most definitely put up another chapter!**

**until then.*  
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** **All names, places, situations, etc. aside from the ones I have created, belong to Bethesda/Skyrim****

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Chapter 1

"Callista Ojala the Nord is a wanted criminal. She is to be executed for the murder of an Imperial soldier," These are the first words I hear as I jolt awake from a restless sleep.

_Executed? _This is my first thought. Dread seeps into my veins.

The voice continues, "Where is she? We know you're hiding her."

I had arrived at this Skyrim inn near the border of Cyrodil last night after two long days of trying to lose the Legion soldiers who were tracking me. I was so tired; I barely made it to my room before passing out from exhaustion. I didn't sleep very well though. The smallest noise would jerk me into consciousness. I was worried that the soldiers would find me. Apparently they did. _And_ _I'm still exhausted._

I shrink into the shadows of the small room, as I listen to the flustered inn keeper trying to get the soldiers to leave.

"Who d'ya mean? I have no idea who you're talking about. Now, get yer stinking selves outta me inn!"

A scuffle follows, and then I hear the wet squelching noise of the inn keeper being decapitated presumably. The soft thud of his body is barely audible.

_He won't be much help now, _I think, fear filling me at how bloodthirsty these Imperials are. The thud of soldiers' boots fills my ears, as they continue their search for me.

The same voice from earlier yells, "Find her! She's here somewhere."

Feeling frantic, I quickly gather the few possessions I brought with me to the inn the previous night. I strap my small dagger to my hip, feeling safe, though I know it will do me little good in a fight against a group of heavily armed soldiers. Gathering my long hair behind my head, I tie a strip of cloth around it, hoping it will stay out of my face. I pause as I jam my feet into my worn leather boots, listening.

The _thump _from the Imperials' metal boots and the clank of their armor is drawing nearer each second, though they seem to still be searching the floor below me. The noises of their search are joined with the outraged cries of the other guests, as they are rudely awakened from their peaceful sleeps.

Though frantic, I know that I need to formulate a plan for escape. I try desperately to remember the layout of the building. Slowly an idea begins to form, but it's going to require perfect timing and more than anything, luck.

My plan is to wait for the soldiers to reach the top of the stairs. When they get there, I will run out of my room, and leap over the railing across the hallway. From there I will land in the commons area about twelve feet below, where I then will be able to get to the door leading outside. Hopefully, the Imperials will choose to take the stairs, which would give me plenty of time to escape the building. If they tried to jump down from the floor above like me, they would break bones, based on the fact that they are _most likely_ wearing heavy Imperial armor. My biggest worry, aside from the fact that they may jump anyways, is that if I land awkwardly than I will be the one with a broken ankle or leg which translates to mean that there would be no chance in Oblivion of me escaping.

I cock my head to the side, trying to determine the number of guards in the building from the jumbled cacophony of footsteps tramping, chairs and tables being overturned, children crying, women screaming and men yelling, and above all else the thundering of my own heart. In reality, I'm sure it isn't nearly as loud as my brain believes. I count the sounds of their footsteps. Then I recount.

_There are at least seven of them. If I move too slowly, they _will_ kill me. _I think, adrenaline pumping into my system at the thought of so many guards. I immediately scold myself though. _No, don't think that! I can do this. I'm lighter on my feet than them, and smaller. I can make it out of here, as long as I stay ahead of them. _

Crouching beside the door, I await the soldiers as they ransack all the rooms below me, tapping my finger tips against each other, a habit of mine. I can hear the Imperials shouting at the other guests to leave the building if they know what's good for them. They are taking a painfully long time to reach the stairs, and as the seconds pass I become tenser. My entire plan is based off of assumptions, and faith in my own skills. If I miscalculated anything, or forgot even the slightest detail, I'm dead. It's simple as that.

I continue to wait with my breath held. My heart is beating so fast, I feel like its going to punch its way through my chest, and kill me before the guards get a chance too.

_That would be ironic,_ I think managing a small smile.

Then everything goes wrong. One of the fleeing guests shouts, "There's a Nord woman upstairs!" _  
_

The entire building goes quiet, and I wince, holding my breath. Then I hear the soldiers as they race for the stairs shouting, "Come out milk-drinker! We know you're here!"

_Divines help me!_ I dash from my room hoping this will still work. Just as I step out into the hallway, the first soldier appears followed by five others. In the very back of my mind, I notice that one is missing, but my frenzied thoughts tell me I must have just miscounted.

The soldiers spot me, and identical looks of malicious glee spread across their faces as they see their prey. I dash to the railing and fling myself over, rolling when I hit the ground to lessen the impact. The Imperials swear, and just as planned, I hear them run for the stairs.

Feeling hope that this may actually work, I leap to my feet…and right into the hands of the seventh soldier.

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****Feedback appreciated! Also, sorry if at points this is a little dull. I'm going to do my best to not stick completely with dialogue and quests in the game.****


	2. Chapter 2

***Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

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Chapter 2

I immediately try to push myself away from the Legion soldier. His grip however is like iron. My arms feel like they are being bruised where his fingers dig into my skin. Though I know at this point it's futile, I continue to try and escape. I scream, kick, and bite. He is as unyielding as a mountain though. As I try to draw my dagger, he spins me around, and pins my arms behind my back.

"I take it you are Callista Ojala?" He says, his lips almost brushing my ear. Goose bumps form on my skin as his fowl breath curls down my neck. Growling, I attempt to wriggle from his grip. All that happens is his hands tighten on my arms.

"I think we both know that escape attempts are pointless," he says to me. Then he yells, "I caught her! She's down here!" The soldiers shout and reach the bottom of the stairs, surrounding the two of us. I glare at them as fiercely as I can though I'm currently being held captive, and will probably be killed soon. I accept the fact that I will die. That won't keep me from fighting though. The Imperial holding me shoves me towards a brutishly large soldier in front of us.

"Bind her hands and remove any weapons she has."He leaves the inn. One of the soldiers says something to the brute in front of me, calling him Crassius.

Crassius, grins showing his stained teeth, as he binds my hands with thick rope that rubs the skin on my wrists painfully. He proceeds to search me, removing my dagger from its sheath, and tearing the boots from my feet to check for hidden weapons. His hands are absolutely filthy, covered in dirt and blood, from the innkeeper I'm guessing. I continue to struggle, and he slaps me in the face hard enough to knock my head to the side and make my face sting. The men around us laugh.

"Quit struggling," Crassius snaps at me. When I refuse to oblige, he tries to grab me around my throat. Managing to break away from his grip, I back up quickly. My back meets the wall of the inn. He's on me in two steps, pressing his arm against my throat, quite successfully immobilizing me. He pushes me against the wooden planks so hard I feel like my throat will collapse, the wooden walls creaking beneath me. The man's hulking mass makes me realize just how short I am. The brute trails one of his fingers down the scar that I have on my cheek from a knife wound I received years ago.

He looks at my face, smirking. "You ain't goin' anywhere." I respond by slamming my head against his, causing him to stumble backwards with a shout, holding his forehead. My eyes water from the impact.

For about three seconds, the room falls entirely silent as the soldiers watch their immobilized comrade to see how he will react. One man looks at me and sniggers. My face probably is pretty terrified looking, so it's understandable. I try to dash towards the door, but the others shove me backwards, and I fall to the ground at Crassius' feet.

With a growl, Crassius grabs my sleeve and yanks me to my feet. The fabric rips, and the sleeve he had clenched in his fist flutters to the floor.

Crassius shouts in my face, "You're going to pay for that!" He punches me in the jaw, and something sharp punctures the skin, scraping my face. I slide down the wall, seeing stars. My eyes blur with tears from the pain. Through it though, I notice a ring on his hand. My thoughts are already becoming sluggish. I realize slowly there were probably paralysis drugs and Talos knows what else in the ring.

My limbs feel like they are slowly becoming stone; I can barely move my arms. My head pounds and my heart rate slows down as I slump against the wall; my chin rests against my chest.

"Quit fighting, ya little beggar!" Crassius yanks me to my feet again, and I absently hope my other sleeve won't get ripped off. I sway on unsteady legs, but stay standing. Blood dribbles down my neck from the cut along my jaw which is beginning to sting dully. Suddenly, I realize I'm back on the floor.

_When did I get here? _I think, groggily, struggling to keep my eyes open. Crassius slams his foot into my leg.

In the background, I hear the inn door open, and a voice shouting. Crassius' voice follows, saying a jumble of garbled words that my confused brain can't understand. I open my eyes a slit, though it requires a huge deal of effort. Someone picks me up.

_What's happening?_ Through the pain and the drugs, I realize I'm being taken outside. The man carrying me dumps me in a carriage unceremoniously. I sense other people around me. Snow flakes flutter around my head, and leave tiny wet dots on my shirt; the air is frigid. I try to stay awake for a few more moments, but it is too much effort for my already exhausted. I slump against the sideboard, and pass out.


	3. Chapter 3

*******Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

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Chapter 3

I wake up but I don't bother opening my eyes at first. The only thing I can think about is how much my whole body hurts; it seems to be one giant bruise. A crisp breeze tickles my neck, causing me to shiver. The creak of wood and the thud of wheels rolling down a path punctuates the crisp air surrounding me, as well as the quiet murmuring of voices.

_Where am I? What happened?_

Then I remember. Slowly, I open my eyes, though one of them is swollen. Dizziness washes over me as I stare at the sky. It is the dark blue right before dawn. Looking to both sides, I see the path ahead is cloaked in the mist of early morning, and we are being followed by another carriage bearing prisoners. I then notice the other people sitting with me.

They all wear the armor of the Stormcloaks. I've committed a crime so horrible, that in the eyes of the Imperial soldiers, I'm just as bad if not worse than the Stormcloak rebels.

_I'm as bad as a prisoner of war. _I can't help feeling slightly amused. I'm surrounded by war hardened men in their middle to late thirties, and I am just a girl, barely eighteen, that grew up on the streets.

"So you're awake. What did you do to get yourself beaten that badly?" The man across from me has a strong Nordic accent, and a long beard. He appears to be one of the younger ones in the wagon. My tongue feels like a dead slaughterfish in my mouth. It takes me a moment to find my voice.

"I stole some food, and they caught me. Then they drugged me. How long was I out?"

"A day now," he says. He pauses for a moment then says, "Stealing some food doesn't seem bad enough to get you executed." He can tell I'm withholding information. For a moment I try to decide how much to tell him; since I'm going to be dead soon though, I decide to just tell him everything.

"Well… I killed one of them, and then led them on a chase across the border from Cyrodil. That might have something to do with it." I shrug painfully, not knowing what else to say.

"Well done," the man says. I can see approval light his eyes.

He tries to say something else when the Imperial guard driving the carriage snaps, "Shut up back there, scum! No talking."

We both fall silent, and I look at the sky again, not wanting to see the defeated looks on all the other prisoners' faces. I wish I could think of something that will make this situation not seem so horrible, but really there is nothing that will help. This day is the day that I die. I begin to shiver, which makes me realize that someone has clothed me in a ragged shirt, replacing my torn one. This only causes me to remember the hazy events from when I was at the inn though. Now that the paralysis drug has worn off, I can feel the torn skin all along my abdomen, and my left leg feels swollen where Crassius stepped on it.

In the carriage behind us, I hear a man panicking. He's probably just realized what his fate will be today, and is refusing to accept it.

The gates to a town appear through the mountain mist. The man across from me mutters, "Never thought I would return like this." I look at him questioningly.

He glances at me and explains. "This is my home town. This is Helgen."

Sympathy wells up inside of me. His family will probably be here to see his death. I don't say anything though. As a Nord, he won't want to die with someone pitying him. That would take away from any honor his death may have.

We pass through the gates into the town. I notice a group of High Elves milling around near the entrance.

"Looks like the Thalmor came to see us," I say quietly.

"Aye," the man says bluntly. I can still hear the pure hatred in his voice, and see it in his eyes though.

Townsfolk gather on their porches to watch the somber procession. I watch as a father sends a complaining child inside the house, probably trying to protect his son from the grisly horrors that are about to take place.

Our carriage jerks to a stop by a wall between two large guard towers. From where I'm sitting I can just barely see the silhouette of the executioner, his long curved blade gleaming in the early morning darkness.

_This is it._


	4. Chapter 4

*******Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

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Chapter 4

The other carriage stops beside ours. When I glance in its direction I notice a man wearing royal clothes and he has a gag in his mouth. His face seems slightly familiar, which confuses me. Then he nods at me. Even more confused, I turn back around.

"That's Ulfric Stormcloak, my leader," the Stormcloak across from me whispers.

Shocked, I glance back at the other carriage, trying to be discreet. I do indeed recognize the rebel leader's face from drawings I've seen, now that I know who he is. Across from Ulfric sits a man dressed in rags who seems to be planning an escape even now, when his chances are incredibly slim if not nonexistent. Beside him is another Stormcloak soldier who sits calmly, head down. The fourth person is also a slight shock.

The fourth person is a girl. She looks to be around my age, also in rags. She has the pale skin of a Nord, but her hair is as black and glossy as a raven's feathers. It is long, and tumbles down past her shoulders like silk. When she notices me staring, she looks back at me, unblinking. I hastily turn back around.

_I've never seen eyes like that before,_ I think. The girl's eyes are the color of steel and are filled with defiance. The look on her face however makes her seem almost vulnerable. She seems young, and unsure what she should do in this kind of situation.

_I guess I'm not the only one._

I'm broken from my thoughts when a guard tells us to get out of the carriages. I clumsily stand while my legs tremble, from the pain it is just to stand. The sound of sliding footsteps sounds in the crisp morning air as we all shuffle across the wooden floors of the carriages to the ground. I glance at the sky as I descend. It's now the color of sunrise. When I land on the ground, I dig my toes into the cold dirt below me, needing to feel anchored.

The Legion soldiers begin calling out the names of prisoners. As each prisoner is called up, the Imperial soldier will scratch their name from the list.

_Many of our names will be forgotten as easily as they are scratched from that parchment, _I think sadly.

I glance around at all the other prisoners and count about eight of us in all. Ulfric is called, and he is soon followed by the Stormcloak soldier from his carriage. A stern looking Imperial woman calls the name 'Fjolfr' and the man I had been talking to earlier walks by. He nods at me as he walks; his eyes are filled with determination. He is directed to stand with the small crowd of people who were already called near the chopping block. That leaves me, the last person from my carriage, the strange girl, and the ragged man.

"Lokir of Rorikstead, step forward." The man that I heard shouting earlier steps forward hesitantly, and then shouts, "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this to me!" Then he foolishly tries to run from the area. The woman shouts at him to halt, but he continues running.

"You can't kill me! Not today, not ever!" The Imperial woman yells for the archers to finish him off. He is killed instantly by an arrow as it buries itself in his neck. I look away as blood pools around his dead body.

The woman yells, "Is there anyone else who wants to run?" Her question is met with silence.

I glance at the other girl from the corner of my eye. Her eyes stay on the dead body, though she doesn't seem repulsed or afraid because of it. She stands with her back straight and her chin up. Just from looking at her, anyone would be able to tell that she is a brave Nord, and will go to Sovngarde because of it.

_I wonder if thieves like me are allowed into Sovngarde. _Worry flares in my chest momentarily at the thought that I will be forced to wander the planes of Oblivion for eternity. I'm broken out of my thoughts though when my name is called.

"Callista Ojala, step forward." My heart in my throat, I limp forwards, and then directed towards the crowd once my name has been scratched out.

Though I'm about to die, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I listen intently to find out the name of the strange girl. I turn my head slightly so I can see what's happening. The man standing a few feet away from the cart holding the prisoner list glances up, and does a double take when he sees her.

"Who are you?" Not one of the prisoners here was asked that.

_Is she not supposed to be here? _

The girl says her name in a quiet voice, with a slight Nordic accent. "Dahlia Brynja." The soldier checks his list again, a look of confusion on his face.

"Your name isn't on the list." When he says this, the Imperial woman from earlier walks up and glances at the list in his hands. I notice the faintest spark of hope in Dahlia's eyes.

"This prisoner's name isn't on the list. Captain, what should we do with her?" The captain thinks it over for barely a second before she replies coldly, "Send her to the block. The list doesn't matter."

The man looks unsure. "Are you sure? We could just let her go."

"Do you want me to put your name on the list, Hadvar?" Hadvar looks down at his feet, muttering, "No, captain; by your orders." The woman storms off to stand by the executioner.

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim," Hadvar says, and I notice Dahlia's head drop a little. The sympathy in Hadvar's voice is nearly tangible as he says, "At least you will die in your homeland. Follow the Captain, prisoner." I look down at the ground in front of me as Dahlia begins to walk this way. Hadvar walks to the space on the other side of the executioner.

Ulfric is brought forward, and a man with a red Legion cloak begins to speak to him. I realize that it happens to be the one and only General Tullius. He tells Ulfric that he is a dog, and that he was the one who started the war. That is why he's here today, as well as his soldiers. The regularly dull pain in my stomach sharpens, causing me to wince.

Just as Tullius finishes his speech, I hear an odd noise that makes my skin prickle. I can't really explain it, but everyone's faces turn skyward, so I know it wasn't my imagination. It almost sounded like the call of a large bird. I peer at the mountains in the distance. Squinting, I can just barely make out an odd shape. Well, it's really more of a darker patch on the already dark mountain face nearest Helgen. Hadvar breaks the silence. "What was that?"

"Never mind; I'm sure it was nothing," the general says, sounding impatient. "Carry on with the execution."

"Yes, General Tullius!" The captain says, sounding far too eager. I try to breathe.


	5. Chapter 5

*******Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

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Chapter 5

The first Stormcloak soldier walks up to the block, muttering, "Let's get this over with." The captain places her hands on his shoulders, pushing him to his knees. He lays his head on the chopping block.

"My ancestors are smiling down on me, you worthless piles of dung. You are giving me a good death." I can't help but appreciate his final act of rebellion.

The captain nods at the executioner, who raises his gleaming instrument of death above his head. He brings it down with a sickening crunch; blood spurts from the man's neck. The now decapitated head lands on the ground with a soft, wet thud. I try to remain silent, but a small whimper escapes my lips. One of the Stormcloaks calls the Imperials bastards, but is quickly silenced by a kick to the stomach.

_The executions have begun_.

The next prisoner to go to the block is Dahlia. She gracefully walks to the now bloodied stone, her silver eyes twinkling as the sun peeks over the mountain tops. Carefully stepping over the man's headless corpse, she kneels in his blood and puts her head down. I can see her shoulders move as she takes a few deep breaths. I can't bear to see someone else die, let alone someone my own age.

While I'm trying to find something else to look at, I hear that strange sound again, except now it's close enough to rattle my teeth. This time it's accompanied with the sound of huge wings and powerful gusts of wind. I look up in time to see a huge black shape drop from the sky, landing on the guard tower in front of us. The creature has scales that are as black as a moonless night, sharp spines down its neck and back, and a tail that's thicker than a tree trunk. It has legs that are as tall as three of me. Claws that could cut a giant in half wrap around the top of the guard tower, stone crumbling under its grip. Its wings are each the size of a mansion, easily. Teeth that are at least as long as my arm emerge from its mouth as it growls.

I'm too shocked and confused to scream. Soldiers and prisoners alike scramble backwards, shouting, as the creature roars. The noise is the most terrifying sound I have ever heard. It's so loud that I feel like my eardrums will burst. Someone shouts what sounds like the word dragon, and I'm confused. Dragons don't exist anymore.

"What in Oblivion is that thing?" Before anyone can answer, the creature opens its mouth, letting loose an even louder percussive noise like thunder.

I'm blown backwards by the force of it, and the sky clouds over. Lightning flashes and I begin to think I've already died.

_What's happening?_ _Is the world ending? Talos, help me!_

Then I burst into action as the creature takes off into flight. Adrenaline makes my wounds from the inn a distant memory. Scrambling to my feet as fast as my bound hands will allow, I spin around, trying to find a place I can hide in. A slender figure sprints past me, into the other guard tower. I attempt to follow, when a giant curtain of flame pours from the mouth of the dragon as it flies over. I throw my arms up in front of my face. Agonizing pain shoots through my left arm as the fire's heat tries to eat away at my flesh. Tripping, I fall backwards hitting my head on the hard ground. I realize I fell over the corpse of the executed man, and bile rises in my throat. Shaking off the pain, I scramble to my feet and away from the body.

_Where can I go to be safe?_

The air is filled with smoke, the screams of children, and shouts of agony as people are killed by the torrent of flames. I feel lightheaded, both from pain and that I am unable to breathe through the smoke. Stumbling blindly along, I manage to find the door to a house. The door is locked, and I pound my fists against it, screaming for help. No one answers. The dragon flies overhead, and fear makes me irrational. I can't think. I can't breathe.

I half stumble, half fall off the porch as I go around to the side of the house, running my hands along the rough wooden planks in search of a window. My heart leaps with joy when my hand touches cool glass. I slam my fists against it, and it shatters. Barely registering the blood streaming from my fingers and wrists, I knock some loose pieces of glass out of the way, and hoist myself inside. The ground shakes, and I hear the dragon scream as it breathes fire on the house next to the one I'm in.

Desperately, I dash through the house, crashing into furniture, choking on smoke. As I race through the house, I have to dodge debris falling all around me. A large beam from the ceiling nearly lands on top of me, but I manage to slide out of the way just in time, slamming my knees into a fallen table.

Finally, I find the door to the cellar, and fling it open. I throw myself down into the dark hole in the floor, struggling to pull the door shut with my tied and injured hands. Just as I close the door, I hear the protest of the massacred building, and more debris lands on the door with a deafening _crash._

"I made it," I rasp, bewildered at how I've managed to survive, but happy nonetheless.


	6. Chapter 6

***Hey you guys! I decided to post the next chapter a little early because WHY NOT? ***

******Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter6

The cellar is dark as tar. The air down here is warm and close and I immediately feel claustrophobic. All sounds from the outside world are muffled by the earth. The ground trembles as the dragon above wreaks havoc on Helgen. Crouching, I push myself backwards into the far corner. My breath comes in heaving gasps as I try to recover, and I realize how much pain I'm in.

My previous wounds burn and ache all over my body, and blood drips from my finger tips onto my shirt and pants; the pain in my hands is excruciating. My head hurts nearly as much; I can feel a gash where I slammed it on the stone road. My hair is soaked with blood and sweat. The burn on my arm stings and it hurts more than anything else. Swallowing the bile that rises in my throat, I attempt to organize my thoughts.

"I need to untie my hands,"I say to myself. I feel light headed from blood loss, but I begin to search in the darkness clumsily for something sharp enough to cut the chafing ropes on my wrist.

Finally, my fingers brush what feels like a nail on the dirt floor of the cellar. I begin to tear at the rope with it. It takes a lot of effort, and by the time I'm done, my wrists are raw, and have several more cuts on them. I managed to cut the rope enough though that I can slide my hands out of it. I'm utterly exhausted, and it feels like a giant has been slamming a club against me head for the past hour. Needing sleep, I pass into a dreamless sleep.

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Slowly opening my eyes, I'm disoriented momentarily because of the darkness. Then I realize I'm still in the cellar.

_How long was I out for? _I attempt to stand, but dizziness washes over me in waves, bile flooding my mouth; I end up in a kneeling position. I begin to crawl towards where I remembered the cellar door to be, dirt finding its way into the wounds along my fingers and wrists. By the time I get there I'm out of breath again, and my body is screaming at me. Then, coughs begin to tear through me; blood bubbles past my lips.

_That hasn't happened in a while,_ I think, spitting the metallic liquid from my mouth and swiping my hands over my lips.

I pause for a moment, and listen. The screams of those above have subsided, and the ground has stopped shaking. Releasing my breath, relieved, I dig my fingers into the dirt of the cellar wall and haul myself to my feet, gritting my teeth as I feel fresh blood trickle from my head wound. I tear a strip of cloth from the bottom of my pants and tie it around my head as best I can. I tear more fabric off to wrap around my hands.

I start on the door next. Placing my hands on the door, I do my best to brace my feet against the loose dirt of the cellar floor. Then I push against it with all my strength, groaning through my clenched teeth from the effort. The door shifts upwards possibly half an inch, when my feet slide out from under me. I land on my face in the dirt, sweat trickling down my back. Gasping, I crawl awkwardly to my feet, and try again. Then I try again, and then again.

"Divines, just let me out of here!" I yell, though I know that no one can hear me. I'm sure everyone out there is dead, or severely wounded. Frustrated, I slide down to the floor, holding my hands gingerly in front of me. They're filled with splinters, and caked in both fresh and dried blood. What's left of my shirt is soaked with sweat from the effort.

"This is just great. I escape execution, and _then_ a dragon. Now I get to die in this bloody cellar instead!" Panting just from talking, I haul myself to my feet yet again, prepared to die trying to get out of this damned place.

Just as I shove my hands against the door once again, I hear a muffled voice from above. I hold my breath, listening. For a moment all I can hear is my labored breathing, then it speaks again. It says, "Wait, I heard something over there!" The muffled sound of footsteps jogs over to right by the door. Feeling nervous, I try to decide if I should call out, or remain hidden. Abruptly, the person pounds on the door. I let out a surprised shout, jumping back a few steps. I clamp my hands over it, cursing at myself ferociously. _Stupid nerves.  
_

It's silent up above for a few moments, and I begin to think that they didn't hear me and left, but then they shout. "Is anyone down there?"

"Aye, there is!" I shout back, still not sure if I should trust this person. At this point though, I don't see any point in not answering. I would rather die above ground then in this dark hole.

There is silence for a moment. "Wait a little longer. We're going to move some debris to help get you out."

"I'm not going anywhere! Do what you want!" I hear the sound of something heavy scraping across the door, some debris being shifted. The door is then opened with a painful creak. I look up, and see that there is no longer a roof above me. Only an orange tinted late afternoon sky, clouds of smoke swirling like deathly whirlpools.

Clambering gingerly out of the hole, I look around. Ash floats through the air, and I can see plumes of smoke throughout what remains of Helgen. The house I had been hiding under is no longer there. All that is left is a pile of burnt logs.

"So you did survive after all," a familiar voice says. I turn to see Fjolfr, the man from my carriage standing there, his armor bloody, and a deep slash cutting across his cheekbone.

"Just barely," I say. "You don't look like you're doing so well."

"Neither do you," he replies with a weak smile, sounding slightly defensive.

We stand facing each other awkwardly for a few moments, when I hear footsteps coming from behind me. Years of living on the streets make themselves known, and I spin around, my fists clenched painfully in front of me.

"It's all right. This is a friend of mine," Fjolfr says. I glance back at him, and then at the newcomer, dropping my fists, though they stay clenched. The man steps forward and I vaguely recognize him as one of the other men that had been in the carriage with us.

"Most of the Imperials are gone," he says to Fjolfr, not even glancing at me. "The ones that are still here are either dead or dying." Fjolfr nods as if that's what he expected. The new man asks, "What should we do?"

"Let's look for more survivors and then head for Windhelm," Fjolfr replies after thinking for a moment. He looks at me. "What's your name?"

"Callista Ojala," I reply, my voice cracking from thirst. Fjolfr nods again.

"You're welcome to come with us. We would treat your wounds, and give you fresh clothes and supplies. You would be welcomed into the Stormcloak army with open arms," he says. Pausing briefly, he looks into my face. Fjolfr continues to say, "I think you would make a fine soldier. You are a true Nord, and have just as much reason to hate the Imperials as the rest of us."

Caught off guard by the question, I don't know what to say. For the briefest of moments I'm tempted to accept so I can have revenge. I'm barely eighteen though, and not a particularly gifted in fighting. I know enough to survive out on the streets, but not enough to face hoards of well trained Legion soldiers. My only talent is stealing, and I only use that as a means to survive. To be completely honest with myself anyways, I hate soldiers in general. War is awful, and it destroys lives. Why would anyone want to be a part of that?

"I-I don't think that I would make a good soldier. Thanks for the offer, but I prefer to be alone."

"I understand. If you ever change your mind, we'll be there." he says, not quite managing to conceal his look of disappointment.

Fjolfr's friend speaks then. "We've managed to scavenge some supplies from the wreckage. There might be some clothes that would fit you, and there are some extra swords and daggers. There were some healing potions too. Help yourself to whatever you need." He points in the direction I should head in, and I thank him. Limping away, I do my best to look in less pain than I am. Even if I'm not joining the Stormcloaks, I hate to be viewed by anyone as weak.

It's twilight by now, and I relish the soft night time breeze that caresses my raw and tortured skin. Night time creatures begin to come out for the evening. In the distance the howl of a lone wolf is heard, and shivers dance up my spine. An owl hoots somewhere nearby.

I practically collapse once I reach the crates filled with supplies. I paw through the contents. I smile with glee when I find an unexpected surprise. I pull out the pair of boots that the Imperials stole from me back at the inn.

_Figures, _I think, slightly exasperated at myself. _I almost die twice, and I'm already recovered enough to feel happy about a pair of boots._

A bottle of healing potion and a dagger follow them from the crate shortly afterwards. A little more searching and I find a pair of pants and relatively clean shirt that both seem to be my size. Feeling content with my findings, I hobble off somewhere to put on the fresh clothes, and to heal.

I end up in a small area of charred grass behind the rubble of the guard tower where I almost lost my head. I'm exhausted as I uncork the small bottle of liquid health, and drink about half the solution. It tastes of snowberries and bitter herbs. The moment I swallow, I feel slightly better. The skin on my hands and wrists feels soothed, and the wound on my head doesn't ache quite as much. The only wound that the potion doesn't seem to help is the burn on my arm, which has become a large angry red mark streaking across my lower arm. Around the edges, the skin is red and puffy, and stings like hell.

_I suppose it's a good thing that I still have my arm,_ I think grudgingly.

I decide to just finish the bottle off. I change into my new clothes, and pull my boots back onto my feet, relishing in the familiarity of them. My eyelids droop with exhaustion. Curling my legs up to my chest, I allow myself to fall asleep where I sit.


	7. Chapter 7

******Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

*******This is my attempt at writing a dream. I would love some feedback, as I've never actually written one before. :)**

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Chapter 7

_A dragon circles endlessly above. Dark, looming storm clouds form, and red lightning flashes. The dargon lets loose a blood curdling roar that rattles my very bones, and swoops downwards. At the last second, it changes course, sweeping back into the sky, a dark graceful shape against the black clouds. I want to back away, but when I try my foot hits a soft object. Looking down, I spot a burnt corpse sprawled on the ground, its head on the ground nearby. I back away, my senses sharpening with the adrenaline that now courses through my veins. My skin prickles from the sensation of being watched. I spin around in time to see a dark silhouette fade away.  
_

_Turning around again, I spot the mountains, and feel comforted only momentarily. Looking at the nearest one, I see that it's made of thousands of burnt bodies. All the races of Tamriel lay there, their burnt faces twisted in agony. I can hear each of their screams; they resonate at the base of my skull, blocking out all cohesive thought. Spinning around, I run with no direction, unsure what I want to escape from the most. In the distance, I see a familiar silhouette. _

_It's Dahlia, the girl from the execution. She stands with her face to the sky, and her arms out. My lips won't form any words as I try to call out to her. Running towards her, I put my hand on her shoulder. Her flesh feels simultaneously ice cold and burning hot. I snatch my hand back, feeling a sense of foreboding as she slowly turns around. _

_Her eyes are completely black, and blood drips from them like tears. Her skin has a grayish pallor to it, as if she's dead. Gasping, I back away, tripping over my feet and landing on my knees. As I look at her eerily still features, a crack appears on her face and then one on her hand. Abruptly, with a sound like a mountain exploding, her body shatters, and a dragon leaps from where she stood, its jaws open, reaching for me. _

_I jerk backwards in a vain attempt to get out of its path, when the ground disappears from beneath me. I plummet downwards, and the dragon flies into the sky, joining the other. _

_I fall for what seems like years. The world is silent around me as I plummet downwards, until I hear the patter of rain drops. Dark splotches begin to land on the exposed skin of my arm. I realize with horror that it's not rain. It's blood. Soon I'm being drowned in blood as I fall endlessly. Panic builds in my chest, and I can't breathe, the metallic scent of blood filling my nose, surrounding my body in a sticky cloak. I look up and see thousands of corpses falling from above me, more blood landing on my upturned face.  
_

_I scream._

* * *

I jerk upright, water dripping down my face. For a minute, I think its still blood, but I realize that it's truly raining now. I scrub at my face, trying to ignore the feeling that my skin will never be entirely clean again. The rain is icy, feeding off of my body heat, sending goose bumps up my arms. Putting my face in my hands, I sit on the wet, ashy ground for a few minutes, still trying to slow my racing heart.

Since I was a child, I've had awful nightmares. I don't remember when they started, but I've always had suspicions that they have something to do with my condition.

_I need to go somewhere, but where? _

Sighing I climb to my feet. My body feels remarkably healed, though my mind is still reeling from the nightmare. It had seemed so real.

Gathering my thoughts and belongings alike, I trudge out from behind the guard tower. The rain is becoming heavier, and I have to squint to see anything. Ahead of me, two dark shapes slowly come into focus. Walking closer, I realize what they are, and my heart drops into my stomach.

On the road in front of me, Fjolfr and the man that had been with him last night are dead, their throats slit. They're on their backs, and are surrounded by a pool of blood, which is being washed away by the rain. My breath catches in my throat, and I look around me, feeling incredibly unsafe.

_Who did this? Are they still here?_

For a moment I wonder if it was the Imperials, but immediately decide against it. This isn't their way of doing things. They would have brought the two Nords with them, probably as prisoners. Why would they bother killing them discreetly? My next best guess is bandits or thugs, but even that doesn't _really_ make sense.

Bowing my head, I say a prayer to Shor that he will accept these men's souls into Sovngarde, unsure of what else to do. Then I turn and walk up the road, wanting to leave Helgen as soon as I can, though feeling guilty that I can't do something for the two men. I pass by the crates of supplies on my way to the gates, and notice that they are almost completely empty now. All that is left is a rolled up piece of cloth. When I pick it up, three lockpicks fall out of it, and I immediately feel more prepared, the smoothness of them familiar in my shivering fingers.

_These could sure to come in handy._

I look at the ground in front of me as I walk, not wanting to see the total destruction that was left behind from the dragon attack. Shuddering, I remember the beast's first appearance. Dragons are supposed to be extinct, gone forever. Any Nord child, even an orphan such as me, has heard the stories of how the heroes of old rid the world of dragons, of Alduin the World Eater. So how could they be back now?

_Maybe it was just that one that is alive now,_ I think, though I doubt that's the case.

Glancing up from my feet, the gates loom before me, blackened skeletons of stone, and I speed up. All I want is to get to somewhere far away from this cursed place, find a tavern with a bed, and warm food. Then I can decide what to do with myself from there. In the back of my mind, I wonder if I'm still wanted or if the Imperials who chased me have gone back to Cyrodil.

_Or maybe they're dead,_ I think. I can't bring myself to feel hopeful about that though. I wouldn't wish a death as horrifying as that on my worst enemies.

By the time I reach the gates, I'm out of breath, but that's understandable. The potion I drank last night definitely helped though, seeing how I could barely limp even after I got out of the cellar.

I walk out of Helgen, and follow the road, hoping it will bring me to a town.


	8. Chapter 8

******Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

*******Hey guys! Sorry that this chapter was a little bit late. It was a mixture of I couldn't find time to upload, and more importantly I never know what day of the week it is. ;P Do enjoy!***

********Also, a special thanks to all of you who are reviewing (especially **harmoniedusoir **for your awesome feedback on chapter 7) Please keep reading, and feel free to make suggestions for the story!****

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Chapter 8

I've been trudging along the road for about an hour now, the rain making travel difficult and slow. The normally dull pain in my stomach is flaring up, causing me to walk in a hunched position, hands covering my abdomen; the burn on my arm seems to pulse, flaring up painfully if I move my arm the wrong way, or brush it against the fabric of my shirt.

The ice cold rain is still pouring down in sheets, and my hair is plastered to my skull. Feeling like I will never be dry again, I imagine finding a nice, cozy tavern.

_Maybe I will get some mead to warm me up,_ I think, though I've never been one to drink. Living on the streets, you have to be aware of your surroundings. Alcohol isn't very helpful with that.

As I think about the mead and the tavern, I realize that I don't have any money. Sighing, I take the lockpicks out of my pocket, making sure that they aren't damaged. I've been picking locks since I was seven, so I doubt I will have any problems. As long as I don't get caught by the person who owns the house, or the guards, I should be fine.

Putting the lockpicks back in my pocket, I look up. In the distance, I think I see a small town. Picking up the pace, I end up mostly sliding through the mud, doing my best not to break my neck.

After a half an hour, I've reached what is definitely a small town. It looks peaceful enough, and better yet, I don't see any guards. The town has a sign at the entrance that says 'Welcome to Riverwood' on it.

Riverwood has a blacksmith, a store for trade, and best of all, an Inn. There's a large lumber mill behind the Blacksmith, and I can hear the crack of firewood being chopped nearby. I wander into the town, looking for a good place to break into. The problem is, because of the rain, most people are indoors, making a break in rather difficult.

_Maybe I can work at the mill to earn some gold,_ I think, though I'd rather not. I just want to curl up somewhere and sleep some more. As I walk, the door to the blacksmith's shop opens, and a large, muscular Nord that I guess is the blacksmith walks out, closing the door behind him. He turns, and his eyes land on me. I can imagine what I look like; a drowned skeever who's been rolling around in a bloody mud puddle.

"Who are you? I don't recognize you," the man shouts to me. I just shrug, feeling paranoid about giving away my name. He looks me over for a minute, then beckons me over. Slowly, I walk across the muddy road, up the stairs and onto the dry porch.

The blacksmith continues to look at me then says, "You wouldn't happen to be a survivor from Helgen, would you?" I wonder how much he knows about that. I just nod, looking at my feet. He seems like a good Nord man, but I don't know if he would want someone who was going to be executed to be in his town. While I look at my feet, I hear his footsteps as he walks back to his front door.

_He's going to just leave me out here,_ is my first thought.

I hear him open the door and say a few muffled words to someone inside. He walks back to me, and I look up. With him is a pretty Nord woman with a kind smile. She has long rose blonde hair that is tied up in a knot. I'm sure that my own dark brown hair is filthy, matted with dirt and blood.

"Poor child, come inside outta this. Let me see what I can do," She says gesturing towards the door. I hesitate, not used to being taken care of. She laughs. "Don't worry! We don't bite! We've already taken care of another girl from Helgen." I'm slow to respond. My mind, bogged down by all that has happened takes a moment to place what other girl was even at Helgen. My dream from earlier is almost entirely forgotten except for the feelings of fear it caused. However, I do remember the girl from the execution in it, though her name is forgotten.

"Dahlia something," the blacksmith says from beside me, probably seeing my confused face.

"Brynja," Sigrid adds, glancing at her husband. "It was Dahlia Brynja. Did you know her?"

I shake my head no, too tired to say anything else.

"All right, well you've been outside here long enough," Sigrid says, gesturing again towards the door. I follow her as she goes inside, the blacksmith right behind me.

When I step inside, I immediately feel at ease. A fire roars in the stone fireplace, and fills the small house with warmth. The aroma of broth cooking in a pot floats towards me, causing my stomach to grumble. To my right are two beds, and seated on one of them, is a little girl, probably no older then eight.

The woman speaks. "This is our daughter, Dorthe. I'm Sigrid, and this is my husband, Alvor." Dorthe gets up off of the bed and walks over. She looks at me from head to foot. "You're awfully messy," she says bluntly. I smile, though I feel embarrassed and awkward around these people.

"Dorthe, mind your manners!" Sigrid says sternly. "Go downstairs. Maybe Hadvar will play with you."

_Hadvar, _I think. _That name sounds familiar._ Trying to think through the muddled cloud of thoughts in my brain, I finally manage to recall where I remember it from. It's the name of the Imperial soldier at the execution.

"What name did you just say?" I blurt. I clamp my mouth shut immediately, feeling rude. Sigrid turns from her daughter to look at me.

"Hadvar, he's our nephew," she says. "He was at the execution too." Just as I'm about to stammer out a reply, Hadvar himself appears at the top of the stairs on the other side of the room.

"Did someone say my name?" He asks, looking like he just woke up. When he spots me, he looks from Alvor to Sigrid, and then back at me.

"Aren't you one of the prisoners from Helgen?" Yet again I nod, my tongue no better for talking than a dead skeever's. I'm sure that I seem like the rudest person ever, but I can't worry about that right now. Hadvar continues, "I'm glad you made it out," he says, with a smile. I feel confused.

"But you're an Imperial," I say, finding my voice. He just chuckles.

"Aye, that I am, but you're not a Stormcloak, so I have no fight with you." All I can say is a weak "Oh."

"Don't worry about the Imperials now either. I'm sure because of Helgen they won't be searching for you. You're safe now," he says. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of my chest, and I can breathe again. Then Sigrid breaks into the conversation.

"Let's get you cleaned up and fed, dear. I'm sure you're exhausted."


	9. Chapter 9

**The story of Callista continues! I am definitely making it more my own, so please let me know if you absolutely hate it or if you absolutely love it!  
**

***Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

Chapter 9

I stay at Alvor and Sigrid's for two days, recovering. They've taken excellent care of me. Sigrid stitched up the cuts on my hands and wrists that weren't healed entirely from the healing potion I had taken, and applied a healing salve to my burn. She told me that it probably hurts worse than it actually is, and it will heal soon.

When I sleep, I have variations of the nightmare I had the day after the dragon attack. Dahlia is always in them, and they always end with me falling through the ground. Fjolfr and Ulfric Stormcloak are sometimes there. I always experience the feeling of being watched, but that is the least of my worries. I'm usually too busy trying not to die.

When I wake up on the third morning, after a particularly terrifying version of the dream where I become surrounded in flames, I decide I should leave. I don't want to overstay my welcome, and Sigrid has done all she can to help my wounds I think. I feel much better.

While I wait for Alvor and Sigrid to wake up, I lie in the bed, trying to think of what I should do and where I should go. I won't stay in Riverwood. It's small, and I want to be able to live on my own. I grew up feeling unloved and unwanted, so I'm pretty used to it now. It has been nice though, being pampered and taken care of over the past two days.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs causes me to turn my head. Hadvar comes into view. He has a large pack on his shoulder.

_He must be going back to Solitude,_ I think. He had mentioned plans to visit the Legion Headquarters and let them know he was still alive. Hadvar glances in my direction and notices that I'm awake. Nodding in my direction, he whispers a, "Morning," to me as he sits down at the table, placing his pack in the chair beside him. "Want some breakfast?" He asks quietly, cutting a slice of bread off of the loaf on the table.

Rolling off the bed to my feet, I walk as quietly to the table as I can, and sit down. "What time is it?" I ask, yawning.

"Early. It's not light out yet," Hadvar says as he cuts another slice of bread for me, and puts it on a plate. Passing it to me, he asks, "What are your plans when you leave here?" I shrug.

"I'm not really sure. I plan to leave today though."

"Sigrid and Alvor don't mind giving you a place to stay, so don't feel in a hurry to leave."

I look down at the bread in front of me. "It's just that I'm used to living on my own. I'm eternally grateful to your aunt and uncle, but this is strange for me." When I look up at Hadvar, he's watching me. I might imagine it, but I feel like I can see pity in his eyes. Biting my tongue, I remain silent, not wanting to say something unkind to him.

We sit at the table silently for a few minutes. He breaks the silence finally and says, "You could join the Legion. They would pardon you for all your past crimes; give you money and a place to stay." This time, I'm more prepared to respond than I was when Fjolfr asked me to join the Stormcloaks.

"The Stormcloaks have also asked me, and I will tell you what I told them. I wouldn't make a good soldier. I want no part in the war." Like Fjolfr, Hadvar understands.

"That's fine, and I respect you for sticking with your opinion," he says to me, taking a bite of bread. I follow his lead, and take a bite of my own, savoring the flavor before swallowing and taking a second bite.

We sit quietly, eating. The silence overwhelms me finally. Since I got here, I've wanted to ask Hadvar something.

"Why are you so different from the other Imperials?" Hadvar looks at me, thoughtfully chewing his bread. Finally, he begins to speak.

"I don't believe in taking innocent lives."

"So you were willing to let that one girl leave Helgen with her life, and didn't bother to find out why the other prisoners were there?" My tone is slightly more accusatory then I meant for it to be. Hadvar ducks his head apologetically.

"I'm sorry, but I could only do so much. I knew for a fact that she was innocent. Why does it matter though? I almost lost my head for trying." There's another silence, this one decidedly more awkward than the last. I refuse to meet his eyes, and the tension grows in the tiny room. Finally, he changes the topic.

"What are you planning on doing now that you're free?" His question brings me up short, my plans still not entirely formed. What _am _I doing? He laughs softly at my expression. "You could head to Whiterun for a start. They have a good inn there, so you can rest up there and try to decide where to go from there."

"Thanks for the idea." I smile uncertainly at him. "I might just do that."

Hadvar and I both eat another piece of bread. We talk about unimportant topics like the weather, and that it looks like it might snow soon. After a half an hour passes, he stands.

"I best start heading out," he says.

"Travel safely," I say, not really sure what else to say.

"You too," he replies. "Maybe we will see each other again someday."

He shoulders his pack, and walks to the door. When he opens it, a blast of cold air fills the tiny room, and I shiver. Hadvar steps outside, closing the door behind him. I'm left alone. I climb back into bed, hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep without a nightmare.


	10. Chapter 10

**So sorry if this seems like a filler chapter, but pretty soon, PRETTY LEGIT STUFF WILL START HAPPENING. Just hold out a little longer. Kick back, grab a drink, enjoy the story! (If you want to that is.)**

***Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 10

Something that I immediately realize as I wake up is that fact that I had no nightmares while I slept. Reveling in the feeling of relief, I glance around and spot Sigrid stirring something in the pot over the fire. The savory aroma of stewing meat and vegetables floats towards me, seeming to almost taunt me as it whirls around my head. Sigrid talks quietly with Alvor, probably to avoid disturbing me. I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes.

"How was your sleep?" Sigrid asks, handing me a mug of tea.

"Fine," I respond, fighting a yawn. My conversation with Hadvar feels almost like a dream, but I know it wasn't.

"I'm leaving today," I finally say, the bluntness of the statement hanging in the air. Taking a sip of the hot tea, I eye the two people who provided shelter for me, wanting to see their reactions.

"Where will you go?" Sigrid asks, sitting down at the table. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you need."

"I don't know," I say, almost feeling guilty. "I just feel like it's time to move on from here." Sigrid looks like she is about to say something, but Alvor stops her with a look.

"Come here," he says. Walking over to him, he gestures towards a large chest located behind his chair. I stand beside it.

Alvor turns and unlocks the chest, saying, "It isn't much. Help yourself though. You probably don't know how long you will be on the road." I hesitate, and then kneel in front of it. Inside, there is a small pouch with four hundred septims in it; a sum of money like that must have taken years, even decades for the couple to save up. Aside from the money, there are some healing potions, and a variety of clothes. Not wanting to seem greedy, I take one of the potions, and ten septims.

Alvor spots the tiny pile of glittering coins in my hand and scoffs. "You may as well take all the gold," he says. "Stores are pretty expensive nowadays." Sighing, I take the pouch out, and place the gold I took out back into it, knowing that I won't win that argument, but still feeling guilty. My brain can't understand the fact that I'm not stealing this; that it's actually being given to me.

In an hour, I'm ready to leave. I have my boots on, my dagger strapped to my hip, and a pack filled with food that Sigrid made for me, my potion, and the money that Alvor gave me. Sigrid hugs me, and I awkwardly pat her back, still not used to showing affection, or having it shown to me for that matter.

"Travel safely," she says. Alvor grunts in agreement, handing me a canteen of water.

"I'll do my best," I say, smiling shyly, ducking my head in embarrassment.

I open the door, and step outside. My breath takes on a life of its own, swirling into misty patterns in the frosty morning air. Wrapping my arms around myself, I begin to walk briskly, wanting to warm myself up. I've decided to go to Whiterun, even if it is just to hire a carriage driver to take me somewhere else. Hadvar said it would only take a few hours. That should be easy, especially since I have food and water.

My thoughts turn to Dahlia as I walk. Where is she right now? Did the Jarl send her somewhere else after he received her dire news? Thinking back to my conversation with Hadvar, I remember his way of saying that she didn't seem quite 'human.'

_What is it that makes her so special? _I wonder, feeling frustration prick at my skin at the anomaly named Dahlia. _Something about her is definitely not right. _

My internal clock tells me that I've been walking for an hour, maybe an hour and a half. So far nothing has happened. The road I've been traveling on runs alongside a merry river, its water flowing cheerfully by. On the other side of the rushing water is a lush forest, filled with wildlife. Multiple times, I've seen deer grazing by the river banks, ears pricked to listen for signs of trouble. The moment they spot me, they spring away into the cover of the trees like spirits.

The air is crisp and cold, but now that it is later in the day, the sun has risen and is warming the land below, sending tendrils of warmth into my chilled fingers. The sky is a pale blue, and there isn't a cloud in sight. I roll my sleeves up, and take a sip of water from my canteen, enjoying the feeling of being alone. As I put the lid back on my canteen however, I hear the light thump of paw steps from behind me.

_Wolves,_ I think drawing my dagger without hesitation.

I turn just in time to see the fanged canine leap into the air, aiming for my face. I breathe in sharply, and plunge the blade into its neck, its blood splattering my face. It lets out a pained shriek. As I'm pulling my dagger from the body, another one slams into me from behind, knocking it from my grip. I roll onto my back, the second wolf snapping at my face, strings of drool trailing from its parted lips. Bile rises into my throat as its fetid breath washes over my face. I shove my hands against its chest, my fingers knotting in its thick fur, trying to keep it from reaching me. Its feral eyes shine at me as its teeth snap at my exposed throat; I jerk out of the way, and with a yell, shove at the mutt with all my strength, managing to unbalance it. I scramble away from it, snatching my dagger up. It tries to bite at my knees, causing me to leap back, barely dodging the dagger like fangs. When it attacks again, I slam my dagger into its spine, paralyzing it. Its legs collapse beneath it and the wolf dies instantly.

Breathing hard, I look everywhere, listening intently, making sure that there aren't any more wolves. I wait, trying to hold my breath. All I can hear is the river though. I retrieve my dagger, and after wiping it off on the wolf's fur, sheath it. Walking to the edge of the river, I splash water on my face, wanting to get the blood off of my skin.

_How come blood is always around me? It's in my dreams, real life, every where. _

* * *

_***ATTENTION! I will not be able to post a chapter two Saturdays from now, for I will be out of town. So, being the overachiever that I am, next Saturday I will post two chapters. Just letting you know so you don't accidentally read ahead, because that may or may not be disastrous. (Jk but still. Don't do that.) XD  
**_


	11. Chapter 11

**It is here! The first chapter in the promised double feature. Some stuff is beginning to happen as you will see. Have fun!**

***Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 11

After another hour of walking, I reach Whiterun's stables. In front of them, a carriage for hire lies in wait, though the driver seems to be asleep, his hat pulled over his eyes. Horses whinny softly inside the stables, nibbling on hay. As I walk by, a stable boy grins at me, waving hello. Momentarily, I don't believe that he is waving at me, and glance behind me. Not seeing anyone there though, I wave back uncertainly. He continues to smile, and begins to put fresh hay in the horses' stalls.

My first stop in Whiterun is the blacksmith's; my wolf fight decided that for me. I may have been able to take care of the wolves with my dagger, but I barely managed that. Anything bigger than them, a person for example, and I'll be in a lot of trouble. Walking up the road leading to the city gates, I pass four watch towers, and hope to the Divines that Hadvar was right about the Imperials not caring about me. No one stops me however, and I continue on into the city, the gates already open.

Close to the entrance is the blacksmith's. The name of the place is Warmaiden's; as I survey the area, the name is incredibly suiting. Standing at the forge, hammering on a piece of cherry red metal, is a dark skinned Imperial woman.

Walking up to her, I yell, "Can I see your wares?" My words are swallowed by the ringing of metal and the hiss of steam as she plunges it into a container of water. Unsure of what else to do, I tap her on the shoulder, and then back up, hoping she doesn't try to hammer _me_ for interrupting her. She looks up from her work. "Did you say something?"

I repeat myself. "What do you have for sale?"

"Plenty," is her matter of fact answer. She leads me to the entrance of the store, holding the door open for me as I step inside. The building is well lit, and it smells of lumber, smoke, and metal. The woman walks behind the counter.

"I'm Adrianne Avenicci," she says offering me a strong hand. We shake hands, her grip strong, and her fingers calloused and rough from working the forge. "My husband is Ulfberth, but he had to leave Whiterun to pick up an order. Now, what can I do for you?"

"I need a sword." When I say this, Adrianne laughs, and I say defensively, "What? I do!"

"Saying you 'need a sword' doesn't really answer my question. That's a broad category," she says, still chuckling. "What kind of sword do you want? Do you prefer to carry a shield, or duel wield perhaps? Would you want iron or steel? Or maybe something of dwarven make? What's your budget?" I feel completely clueless. She smiles, saying, "First time?"

"Aye," is my sheepish response.

* * *

By the time I leave the blacksmith's shop, it is late in the afternoon, and I'm two hundred and seventy five septims poorer. Adrianne helped me in the decision making, and I am now the owner of a light weight leather cuirass, as well as a pair of bracers made from the same material, and a dwarven sword. I decide to head over to the inn, the Bannered Mare, and rent a room.

I'm about to start walking when a Dark Elf woman in steel armor hurries down the street, coming from Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace. City guards join her as she walks. When she reaches what appears to be the guard barracks across the street, she stops, pounding on the door until the guards inside stream out. By now she is surrounded by at least fifteen men. That isn't what catches my attention though. The slim figure of a girl bounds down the walkway to join the guards and Irileth. It's the same girl from the execution. Dahlia, dressed in Studded armor, and with two steel swords strapped to her back, her long silky hair is tied back with a strip of cloth, looks ready for a fight.

Irileth notices her, and snaps, "What took you so long? We need to get to the western tower as fast as possible!"

Dahlia's response is quick. "Than shouldn't we be headed there now, instead of talking here, Irileth?" Her fingers tap nervously on her thigh, but she meets the elf's red gaze with her steely one. Both women stare at each other for only a moment, before Irileth gestures, exasperated, towards the gates.

"You head down there now, we'll meet you there." Dahlia nods, and sprints through the gateway, footsteps light and swift.

_Why did they recruit her?_ Irileth and Dahlia seem to be on the same level of command, and yet she was a prisoner only the other day. She also didn't seem to be in the best shape. On a glance, Dahlia seemed to look fine, but on closer inspection, there were dark circles under her eyes and a barely faded bruise on her high cheekbone.

Then I realize that they must have recruited her because she survived Helgen. There must be another attack coming towards Whiterun. My pulse thuds faster at the thought as I worry. _Will I have to survive another attack? _I don't know what I should do, so I decide to go to the inn.

When I open the door, noise pours from the building. People sit on wooden benches, surrounding a fire pit. A bard sings, and plays a lute while the people in the crowd listen and talk to each other. The sound of men laughing, and women shouting the latest gossip surrounds me as I step inside. I push my way through the crowd to the bar; oddly enough, the noise of the unsuspecting people calms me slightly.

The inn keeper looks up at me, smiling as she wipes a glass clean. "Welcome to the Bannered Mare!" She has to shout to be heard over the noise of the crowd. "What can I do for you? Do you want food and drink, or just a bed?"

"Just a room," I shout back.

"That'll be ten septims please!" I hand over the money, and after quickly counting them, and then placing them in her apron pocket, she shouts, "Right this way, miss!"

The woman muscles her way through the crowd to a set of stairs. She turns to me than. "Go up the stairs and the door on the right is your room. Let me know if you need anything!" I shout my thanks to her, and then climb the stairs.

When the door is closed, the noise from below is muffled, but only slightly. I pull on my new armor, checking to make sure it fits. Then I strap my sword's sheath onto my belt, next to the dagger. I take a couple of practice swings, trying to adjust myself to the length. In the back of my mind, I wonder if there is someone who can give me lessons.

A few minutes later, I'm back outside the inn, and headed for the city gate, feeling the surge of adventure in my blood.


	12. Chapter 12

**SECOND CHAPTER OF THE DOUBLE FEATURE! For some people, this chapter may be thought of as simply amazing. For others you may not like it. That is your decision, but definitely give it a chance! Be prepared though. Out of all the chapters I have written so far, I definitely made this 'mine' in plenty of ways, as in it is rather unlike the game, and more realistic (or at least as realistic as Skyrim can get. :P) Anyways, you should stop reading this now and get to reading the chapter. Have fun!**

***Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

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Chapter 12

When I reach the gates, Irileth and her men are all gone, most likely at the western watch tower already. Even from here I can see the smoke billowing in the air. My instincts urge me to find shelter, still traumatized from Helgen.

Just as I step out from beneath the gates, I hear the roar of a dragon, now familiar to me from my dreams. I rush down the path that I walked earlier today, wanting to be close enough to see what is happening, though I have no idea why. Fighting my instincts, I head towards the smoke. The outline of the tower soon appears through the acrid clouds.

Moving close enough to feel the heat from the fires that burn around the ruined tower, I crouch in a pile of stones. The air rattles, and I glance skyward to see the huge creature far overhead. Swallowing my fear, I examine it. It isn't the same one that attacked Helgen. This one has brown and grey scales instead of black, and it isn't quite as large, though it is still a formidable foe.

The dragon swoops higher into the sky, and then it closes its wings, and plummets towards the ground, snapping its huge jaws at anything that moves. I feel as if I'm the size of an ant compared to its hulking form.

_I'm probably not far off,_ I think, just as guards run by my spot, and I realize that I've placed myself much too close to the combat zone for comfort.

_Shows how smart you are_. Squinting through the smoke, I manage to spot Irileth's dark skin; she aims her hands at the dragon, shooting fire balls at it. I scan the area two more times, before I finally spot Dahlia.

She is in the exact place that any normal person would not want to be in. With a bow that she must have taken from a dead guard, Dahlia fires at the dragon from atop the tower ruins. When the dragon flies over her, it is probably no more than two or three feet away from her. If she really wanted to, she could reach out and touch its smooth underbelly. Drawing back the string of the bow, Dahlia lets loose three arrows in quick succession, aiming for the beasts wings. Two of them meet their target, poking holes in the thin membrane of the creature's wings. She shouts something to the ground below, and the other archers begin to aim for the creature's wings as well.

Roaring in either irritation or pain, the dragon swings its tail to the side as it shoots itself back into the sky. The serpentine appendage slams into Dahlia, knocking her from the tower. Gasping, I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand, not wanting to see her fall, but not wanting to look away.

Dahlia falls backwards from the tower, her bow falling to the ground forty feet below. Just as I'm about to cover my eyes, she flips herself over so her stomach is facing the ground, and she grabs onto the sill of a window. Her body slams against the hard stone, and I wince, guessing how much that must have hurt. I wait for her to climb in through the window, but she just hangs there. Obviously that crazy girl has a plan… or a death wish.

Since all of my attention was on Dahlia, I lost focus on the dragon momentarily. It begins to fly downwards in a spiral pattern, its left wing tip pointed towards the watchtower.

_She's dead now_. The creature lets loose another roar, blue tinted flames shooting from its mouth. The fire hits the tower right above Dahlia, as if the monster is taunting her. It circles around again, now on the same level as her. I watch, unblinking.

_What is she going to do?_

My question is answered almost immediately. Just as the dragon opens its jaws, preparing to shoot more flames, Dahlia curls her legs underneath herself, and then with a mighty shove, pushes herself off of the watchtower. She flips backwards through the air, and lands on the dragon's neck, barely avoiding the long spikes protruding from its back. I cover my mouth with my hand, completely shocked at how daring she is. The guards still shoot arrows at it, and I worry that one might hit Dahlia instead of their actual target.

The beast flies high into the sky, flipping itself upside down, and then corkscrewing towards the ground, trying to throw Dahlia from its back. It lets a jet of flames loose, crisping the ground below. I back up as it starts flying nearer to where I watch from. It flies lower now, but at an impossible speed; its wings almost seem to blur as they beat, and it whips over my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I see fireballs still whizzing through the air. Irileth's still helping out I see.

As it loops around, drawing nearer again, I watch in utter amazement as Dahlia holds a spike with one hand, gripping the dragon's neck between her legs. She draws a small, gleaming dagger from her waist, raises it above her head, and then slams it into the base of the dragon's skull. The dragon bucks in the air, screaming, deadly flames exploding from its open mouth. Dahlia lets out a small scream of her own when, as she tries to pull the dagger loose, one of the spines along the dragon's back pierces her arm. Even from here, I can see the blood spurt from the wound as she yanks it off.

The dragon tries to fly back towards the watchtower, but its wings crumple, and it plummets towards the earth, finally throwing Dahlia from its back. It slides across the ground, causing dirt and boulders that are bigger than me to fly into the air. I turn and sprint about twenty feet, turning around in time to see it plow through my previous viewing point. Sharp bits of rock fling themselves at me_, _plinking off of my armor harmlessly.

Behind the dragon are deep, jagged trenches dug into the ground by its tail and claws. To my right, I spot Dahlia about thirty feet away. She lies in a crumpled heap against a large stone, and I think for a minute that she's dead, until I see her fingers twitch, and her eyes slowly open. Her armor is shredded from her tumble to the ground as much as from the scales of the dragon.

Somehow, the giant beast is still alive, though blood leaks from its shredded wings. The wound in its head seems to barely slow it down unfortunately; it must have only been enough to stun it momentarily. The earth beneath it is dyed a dark red from its blood as it lifts its head, and staggers to its feet. I look back at Dahlia to see her doing the same. I breathe with relief.

She's is in pretty rough shape. Blood drips from a slash down her arm, probably from when she fell. Her other arm dangles by her side, the puncture wound just above her elbow; blood pours from it, and I'm worried that she is going to bleed out. She winces when she accidentally bumps it as she stumbles towards the fallen beast. More blood trickles from a cut on her temple. Her black hair blows around in the wind, covering her face.

The battered and bloody Dahlia and the equally wounded dragon face off, though they are both on the ground now. With the less injured of her two arms, Dahlia draws one of the swords from her back. The Whiterun guards and Irileth are running towards the two figures, who circle each other, the dragon hissing. Watching carefully, I realize that the dragon is preparing to breath fire, smoke leaking from its snout. I back up quickly, not wanting anymore burns. Just as the guards reach the dragon, it lets loose a torrent of flame.

My stomach drops as she dodges the flames, managing to slash at the beast's torn wings as she does so She yells for the guards to keep shooting arrows, then joins them. One guard slams his weapon, a mace, down on one of the dragon's feet, shattering the bones

The dragon, slowed from blood loss and busy defending itself from the guards, isn't ready for Dahlia as she runs forward, sword raised, and pierces the top of the dragon's head. Blood spurts everywhere, coating her in red, and the dragon lets out an ear piercing shriek. Then with a thud, its body collapses to the ground. Dahlia falls to her knees, utterly exhausted. Something beautiful and terrifying happens then.

The wind speed picks up, and Dahlia clambers to her feet, staring at the dragon corpse with a confused look. The wind blows harder, pushing her hair behind her in billowing waves. Then the scales of the dragon begin to gleam. Soon, a large flame engulfs it, eating away at the very skin of the dragon. As the scales of the former monster burn away, some sort of energy flows into Dahlia, gleaming brighter than the sun.

It pours into Dahlia, who tilts her head back, closing her eyes. Her arms stretch out from her body, and I immediately recognize the stance from my dreams. Her body glows, and I have to turn away she's so bright.

There is a story that is known by all Nords, from the young children who can barely walk, to the most weathered of the elderly. It talks of a legendary being, one who was the slayer of dragons, one who absorbed the creatures' very souls.

Dahlia is Dragonborn.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys! Sorry this chapter is so late! Please enjoy!*****Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

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Chapter 13

I can hear the remaining guards as they exclaim, applaud, and shout in what sounds like fear. Irileth stands off to the side, looking put out. Maybe she's jealous that she wasn't the one to have killed it.

Dahlia stares at the dragon, now only a skeleton. The blood from the dragon has disappeared from her skin, just like the scales are gone from its body. Gingerly, she folds her wounded arm in front of her. One of the guards walks up to her, staring at her in amazement.

"You're… Dragonborn…" He says, not seeming to know what else to say. Dahlia still looks confused, unsure what to say or do.

"What… What do you mean? What just happened?"

"Haven't you ever heard the tales of old? When there were still dragons here, the Dragonborn would slay them and steal their power from them." The guard looks at Dahlia. "That's what you just did I think. You absorbed its power."

A thoughtful look appears on Dahlia's face. "Maybe… Maybe I did?" She says it as a question.

_Maybe she doesn't believe in the stories,_ I think. Dahlia seems to be in a daze, which given the circumstances is quite understandable.

The guard speaks again. "If you truly absorbed its power, than you can shout now."

Dahlia gives the man a look like he's lost his mind. "What?"

"The Dragonborn was able to use powerful shouts that came from the power of the dragons. Go on. Try to shout." He steps back, looking excited, and bracing himself.

Dahlia lifts her head, squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and then shouts, "FUS!" There is a slight delay in sound as the air ripples in front of her, and then a small boom follows. I stare, my eyes wide with shock, and the men begin to yell, asking questions, and crowding around the girl. Irileth breaks them up.

She says, "I don't believe in this Dragonborn nonsense." Then, turning to the shocked looking Dahlia, she says, "You need to go tell the Jarl that the dragon has been dealt with. Now go, quickly."

After one last uncertain look at dragon's bones, Dahlia limps away. After she passes me and is about five hundred meters ahead, I follow her. Some guards who hadn't been in the battle begin to trickle out of Whiterun, wanting to find out what happens.

I walk silently, trying to figure out if what just happened is real. My thoughts are shattered as thunder crashes, and I have to cover my ears it is so loud. The thunder sounded like voices, like it was saying something. I try to listen though it hurts to.

_ "__Dovahkiin,_" is the word that I make out.

_So it's true_, I think as chills dance up and down my spine. Glancing at the now dark sky, I wonder where the voices came from.

As the noise fades, I realize Dahlia has stopped in the city entrance, looking shaken, and her face pale. It's understandable for her to look that way though, seeing how she just fought a dragon, and absorbed its energy or whatever that was. Then strange voices were calling to her… from the sky. Momentarily, I consider talking to her.

_What would I say though? You did a great job killing that dragon? I was at the execution?_ I remain still, and she slowly begins to walk again, headed towards Dragonsreach.

I loiter around the entrance to the city, not quite willing to be around people. I stay there for a few hours, long enough for most of the stars to peak out from the satiny black night sky. With a sigh that sounds like a groan, I climb to my feet, and head into the city.

Walking with my thumbs hooked in my belt loops, I head back towards the Bannered Mare. My stomach growls angrily, and I realize it has been nearly all day since I last ate. Checking my pockets, I pull out the small coin purse containing the one hundred and fifteen septims leftover from buying my armor and renting the room.

_That should be enough for some food and drink._ I reach the door to the Bannered Mare, and push it open. Unlike the first time I entered, the inn isn't filled to the bursting point. It is much quieter inside, though the people who remain in the commons area chatter softly, while the bard from earlier plays soothing music on his lute.

Then I'm hit by how small I am compared to the other Nords in this room. The men tower over me by a good foot, if not more. The other women are nearly as tall. I never realized before now just how small I am.

_This is because I've been close to starving my whole life,_ Is my regretful thought. Practically having to climb onto the bar stool it's so tall, I order myself a bowl of stew and a bottle of mead. With a smile, the inn keeper spoons up my stew, and slides it across the counter to me, followed by the mead. I begin to pull the correct amount of money out of the pouch, but she tells me it's on the house.

The stew is delicious, and it takes my mind off of my small stature momentarily. It's filled with pieces of venison, fresh vegetables, and it has a wonderful seasoning added to it. The mead, surprisingly, is also wonderful. I start out by taking a hesitant sip, unsure why I bothered buying it in the first place. However, when the rich, sweet flavor touches my tongue, I immediately want more. I finish the bottle quickly, and then without thinking, order a second one. I finish the second one as quickly as I did the first.

By now, my thoughts are blurring together, and I feel warm, though not uncomfortably so. Most of the people who had been in the inn when I arrived have gone home by now, so all I hear is the calming music, and a young couple laughing quietly together on the far side of the room. I buy more mead, drinking each bottle slowly, savoring the wonderful taste of it. I have no idea how many I drank, because the bar tender cleared away the empty bottles as I finished with them. She seems amused as she watches me become increasingly drunk, but my brain is too sluggish to care. I reach into the coin pouch, fingers searching for five more septims to buy another bottle. They brush against the empty bottom of the pouch. I'm out of money.

_Stupid!_ I think viciously at myself, my evening spoiled. Now I have no money because I spent it on mead. _How very Nord like of me,_ I think as I sluggishly get to my feet.

The woman behind the bar asks me, "Do you need help getting to your room?" For some reason I find this funny, hilarious really. I giggle as I stumble around so I can see her.

"I'mfinereally," I slur. I try again, my tongue as eloquent as a dead slug. "I'mfiiine." The lady chuckles as I nearly lose my balance.

"I'll walk you to the stairs," she says. Placing her hand on my shoulder she steers me towards the stairs. I stumble over my feet a few times, and manage to kick a man's mug over. He doesn't react though. He's drunker than I am. Laughing at nothing in particular, I let the woman guide me. When we reach the stairs, she pats me on the back.

"Try to drink some water." She glances at my face before continuing, saying, "You are going to be mighty hung over tomorrow." I just laugh, and then try to walk up the stairs. It ends up closer to crawling than walking, but I make it to my room.

After closing the door, I stumble towards the bed and flop down on it. I don't think that I'm sober enough to take off my armor, and I should probably just leave my sword alone. A drunk with a sword isn't the best idea.

Almost immediately, I fall asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**I was bored, so I decided to post another chapter. Hope you like it!**

***Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

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Chapter 14

I wake to the sound of someone pounding on the room's door, and I immediately know that _something_ isn't right. My suspicion is confirmed when a gruff Imperial accented voice shouts, "Come out of there milk-drinker." My eyes widen, and then immediately snap shut as the light touches them. Only then am I aware of the splitting head ache that is most likely from my 'adventures' from last night.

"If you don't open the door right now, we will break it down!" So there's more then one of them. I try my absolute best not to make a noise as I haggardly climb to my feet, and stumble to the other side of the room. To my right is a small area with a balcony around it, and I realize that it leads down into the commons area. I almost find it amusing that this is apparently the only way that I can escape from a building: leaping over balconies and out the doors. Obviously though, I have no other options _yet again._

The Imperials continue to pound on the door, not quite ready to carry out their threat. Cursing myself at the fact that I wasted my money, I make sure my weapons are with me, and hook my lockpicks onto my belt. I make a quick survey of the room below.

It's seemingly empty, though the last time I did this that had also been the case; I ended up getting the pulp beat out of me.

_Oh well. This is your own fault for getting drunk. They probably wouldn't even know that you are here if you had laid low, skeever brain. _ With a grunt of exertion, I clumsily swing myself over the wooden balcony and hang by my fingertips for a moment before dropping to the floor ten feet below. To my surprise I land almost silently, and it seems that the only person in here besides me is an old man passed out by the dying embers of the fire.

Immediately I find out though that when someone is hung over, it is incredibly hard to walk quietly. After my third step, I stumble over a pot with a clatter. Of course, the Imperials hear this and pound down the rickety stairs one at a time, revealing four of them.

No longer needing to sneak, I sprint drunkenly towards the door, and rush outside. I run past city guards and shopkeepers as I speed towards the gate. The soldiers shout at the few people who are in the streets to grab me, to stop me, which only makes me run faster, though my head pounds and my eyes water from the rising sun.

I make it through the city gate, and continue running down the winding road that leads to the stables. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a poster on one of the sentry towers that runs alongside the path. I slow enough to look at it. Recognizing my face on it, I snatch it off, crumpling it into a ball which I jam between my belt and hip. I begin running again.

_Maybe I can steal a horse_, I think though I know that they could track me easier that way. I could at least get head start on them though.

The stable is just ahead, and I can hear the soldiers catching up with me. Putting on an extra burst of speed, I race for the stables, and fling open the nearest stall door. The animal spooks slightly, and I try to calm it with a soothing voice. It quiets slightly, allowing me to hoist myself onto its back. There isn't a saddle, and I've never really ridden a horse to begin with, so this is going to be interesting. I coax the animal forward just as the soldiers come into view, and the stable owner comes out, yelling at me. I dig my heels into the horse's side, and it leaps forward. Grabbing handfuls of its mane, I do my best not to fall off, as I guide it along the road at a breakneck pace.

Soon the Imperials and Whiterun have been left far behind me, leaving me and the animal alone, a few stars still trying to shine as the sun peeks over the horizon.

After I'm positive we've lost the Imperials, I slow the tired animal to a fast trot, patting it on the neck.

"Yet another close call," I say to myself. "Now, where should I go this time?"

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When I was five years old, both of my parents went missing. I was by myself at our small house for over a month before someone came to get me. From there I was taken to an orphanage in Cyrodil, close to the border of Skyrim. I was one of the youngest ones there, and the older children bullied me. After spending half a year at the orphanage, I ran away. That's when I began my life of living on the streets.

When I was young it was easy to beg; many people take enough pity on a starving child to give them a septim or two. However, by the time I was fifteen, everyone looked the other way. If they saw me, they would look do their best to avoid me. I learned the hard way not to pursue the people. If you try to convince the wrong person to give you money, all you're going to get is a punch to the stomach or a slap to the face, if you're lucky.

After I didn't receive any money at all for months, I was barely alive, half starved; I was beginning to get desperate. It didn't help that when my parents disappeared I developed a strange condition. It usually results in me coughing blood up, and sometimes the attacks are so bad I can pass out for days on end. Because I was already weak from starvation, the attacks were getting worse.

One night I got lucky though; I found another beggar. He was an old man, and was fast asleep in an alleyway, knife in hand. Beside him lay a perfect set of lockpicks, and a pouch of stolen gold. When I first saw those picks, I immediately wanted them.

Using the experience I had gained over the years of moving quietly, I sneaked up beside him. I remember having a moment of panic when he twitched in his sleep. Standing stock still, I watched his face, monitored his breathing. He snored, and I relaxed slightly.

Carefully, my fingers outstretched, I reached my hand out, and grasped the string that the lockpicks were on. Lifting them ever so gently, so that they wouldn't clink against each other, I slipped them over my wrist. For a minute, I was tempted to leave the gold and make away with the lockpicks, because I was beginning to get nervous.

_No,_ I thought. _You need all the help you can get._ As I was reaching for the gold though, a stray dog howled nearby, and ran through the alley, knocking over something that landed with a loud clatter. The old man woke up and his bloodshot eyes landed on me. He shouted, "What d'ya think you're doing ya little brat?!" I snatched the gold up, but not before he managed to leave his mark on my face with the dagger he had been holding.

The wound hurt like fire, but I managed to keep my grip on the gold. As I turned to run, he grabbed a handful of my long hair, yanking me backwards. With a shriek, I remember twisting around and jabbing at his eyes. I managed to hit one of them, and he let go with a pained growl.

I sprinted out of the alley and kept running, adrenaline pushing me forward, for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. I spent the rest of the night quietly admiring the lockpicks and polishing them with my ragged shirt while I kept watch for the beggar. Later that night I found an abandoned shack which I hid in.

I stayed in the shack until the next night, alternating from sleeping and trying to ignore the pain in my face. By then, the knife wound had started to become infected most likely because the knife had been dirty. Unable to do anything about it on my own, I decided to use the lockpicks, break into a shop or a wealthy person's house.

In the dead of night, I picked the lock to an alchemist shop. One of the lockpicks broke in the process, but I was able to force the lock open after a few tries.

The shop was well stocked with just about any potion or ingredient that anyone would ever need. I took three healing potions, a stamina potion, and a small potion of invisibility. I also found a small steel dagger under the counter, which I put in my 'bag of goods.' Making sure that I didn't leave any evidence behind, I crept from the shop, a feeling of glee spreading through me that I pulled the heist off without a hitch.

The first order of business when I got back to the shack was to heal myself. I drank two of the potions. The knife wound felt much better, though the potions didn't heal it entirely. It healed just enough that it would leave me with a pale scar. The second order of business was to get rid of my hair.

It had been incredibly long back then, but after the previous night, I didn't want anyone to be able to grab me by it. With the knife I had stolen I hacked at the tangled mess of my hair until it was barely below my chin. That was when my life took a turn for the better.

* * *

I travel away from Whiterun through the day and into the night. My eyes fight to stay open, and I stifle a yawn. Since I'm on the road, I know that I need to try and stay alert. The soft misty air is filled with the soothing noise of chirping crickets, and a lonely breeze blowing through the tree tops. Droplets of dew glimmer on the grass like stars fallen to earth. A quick glance at the sky fills me with worry though; to my right large storm clouds are forming, blotting out the stars with their dark masses.

The brown horse that I stole whinnies quietly and I stroke its soft mane while I try to decide where to go. I don't have a map, or a compass, so I don't even know if I'm going in the right direction. In the distance, I _might _see what _could be_ a city, but I don't trust my vision. I'm barely awake, and it's still dark.

_I may as well keep heading this way._


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello, my lovely readers! I do apologize for posting on such weird days lately. My life has been pretty hectic of late, since school is starting up soon. Hopefully I will also be able to post this Saturday, but we shall see! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! If you don't, tell me why, so I can fix things in the future! Also, a shout out to all of you wonderful people who take the time to review my chapters! It means sooo much to me, and I make sure to read them all!**

***Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

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Chapter 15

After three hours of slow travel, I've reached the city. By now I've realized that, being the skeever brain that I am, I have left my lockpicks back at the Bannered Mare, a grievous mistake on my part. Without lockpicks I have no way of getting more money, which means I'm going back to days of starving it would seem. I would start pickpocketing people, or even get a job except I'm being looked for at this very moment I'm sure, so it would be a better plan for me to just lay low.

A large wooden sign hanging beside the gateway names the city Riften. My stolen companion snorts softly as I dismount. Leading him to the stables, I feed him some hay before turning and walking out towards the city entrance.

Two city guards stand before the gate. Their shields bear what I'm guessing is Riften's insignia: a shield with two swords crossed over top of it. As I step towards the gates, the bigger of the two guards also steps forward, blocking my path. In a strong Nordic voice that is only slightly muffled by his helmet he says, "You're going to need to pay an entrance fee of five hundred septims."

Right as I'm about to tell him I don't have the money, and hope for the best, a thought occurs to me. That price is far too exorbitant for almost anyone in Skyrim I'm willing to bet. Five hundred septims is a year's wages for many people, and the city doesn't appear to be anything except slightly run down.

Glad that I've had experience with cons before, I say coldly, "Honestly, do you really expect me to believe you?"

"Well… Err…" he looks at his companion helplessly, thrown by the fact that someone would actually be willing to question him; the other man just shrugs. My suspicions are confirmed.

"Next time, try lowering the price," I say as I take a step closer. The guard stammers something that I can't make out, and then they both open the gates for me. I smile at them both as I stroll through the now open gates, trying to seem like I'm not a wanted woman, like I'm perfectly at ease. I'm drawn from my thoughts when a raindrop lands on my cheek. The sky above me is filled with dark storm clouds by now.

_More rain; how lovely. _ Stepping into the shadows between the city wall and a house, I crouch down, trying to decide what to do next, now that I've reached another city that is hopefully safer than the last.

My hope is that since the city guards are obviously corrupt, that it will be easier to break and enter somewhere. There's the problem though that I have no lockpicks.

_I'll figure something out. _ Stepping around the side of the building, I survey the wooden wall until I spot a dark window about six feet above me. With a sigh I plant my feet in the crevices provided by the logs that make up the wall. I climb the side of the building with ease, until I can reach the ledge outside of the window. I grab it, and hoist myself up.

The ledge is about half a foot long, so I manage to perch on the edge, my feet against the wall below me to anchor me in place. Cupping my right hand around my eyes, I peer inside, hoping no one is home to see the strange girl sitting outside of their second floor window. The room is dark, empty.

_That's good at least. Now, how do I get in? _I curse myself for leaving my lockpicks behind, but there isn't anything that can be done about that now. I lean against the window, deep in thought. Abruptly, the window folds inwards, and I fall backwards into the room with a yelp. I collapse in a pile on the floor as the window slams shut. I wince at the noise. Rolling into a crouch, I silently step around the room staying close to the wall to avoid making the floor creak, until I reach the door on the other side. As still as I can be, I wait by the door, observing the room, and listening to the sounds of the house.

Colorful dust motes float in the air; I probably stirred them up when I landed on the floor which is covered in a thick carpet of dust. I realize too late that I've left footprints as well as a Callista sized patch on the ground where I fell. _Nothing I can do about that now._

I stay where I am for a few more minutes; just as I am about to exit the room though, the sound of quiet footsteps in the room below me causes my skin to prickle in irritation. My life just became ten times harder. Outside thunder booms and the heavy rain clouds that had been gathering when I arrived finally let loose their burdens, drowning the land below in a torrent of rain.

The footsteps sound closer as whoever they belong to begins to move to the second floor of the house. Their footsteps sound only a few feet away as they stop outside of my hiding spot. I hold my breath, willing them to go away, to not to open the door. The door opens. Pressing my back against the wall I prepare to make a run for it.

A tall, lithely build man that's at least a foot and a half taller then me steps into the room. He's clad from head to toe in leather boots, fingerless gloves, and a leather cuirass and breaches; a hood obscures his face. I silently compare his armor to mine, and realize that though they are made from the same material, his isn't made for protection, but for ease of movement and more importantly, speed. I notice a dark cloth bag slung over his shoulder, already filled with items from the lower part of the house.

_He's a thief._ The man steps silently forward, everything about him alert. Reaching up, he pulls his hood down, revealing auburn hair pulled back into a short tail; I can't get a good look at his face, but that's unimportant anyways. Escape is at the top of my list currently.

I will him not to notice my footprints as he reaches the middle of the room. Sliding silently through the open doorway, I glance quickly over my shoulder, not wanting to risk putting my back to him. Behind me is a small set of stairs, and I take a tentative step backwards just as he notices my dusty trail. Trying to make my way down the stairs as quickly and silently as possible, I feel as if time has slowed. I watch his eyes follow my footsteps, feeling helpless.

Right when I reach the bottom of the stairs and enter a hallway, we make eye contact, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. I'm momentarily distracted by the brilliant green of his eyes, but when he takes a step towards me, I back up quickly, preparing to run. To my left at the other end of the hallway is another set of stairs that leads to the first floor. As the man takes another step towards me, I take another step backwards.

It continues like this for about a minute. He advances; I back away, the distance between us staying the same. Not a word is spoken between us. He simply grins impishly at me, and I scowl at him, trying to figure out what to do. When I reach the stairs all the plans I may have had disappear from my brain as a door below opens and then slams shut, accompanied by the laughter of a man and women as they shake water off themselves.

My eyes widen, and the man gestures towards the room we just left with a jerk of his head. Without any other options, I bound towards the other set of stairs, my feet seeming to barely touch the floor. The red head takes the stairs two at a time, not making a sound. Just as I get into the room, and he shuts the door, the couple reaches the second floor, unaware of the intruders in their home.

With a barely perceptible sigh of relief, I momentarily forget my companion as I head back to the window. Outside, the rain continues to pour down. I groan inwardly, really beginning to hate the rain. I hook my fingers beneath the edge of the window, intending to open it. Of course, it's jammed in place now. Shoving one of my feet against the wall, I try again to pry the blasted window open, only succeeding in getting a splinters in my fingertips. Becoming frustrated, the temptation to kick the window out is growing.

Before I get the chance though, my forgotten companion lays a hand on my arm, causing me to jump about a foot. He gently pushes me to the side, putting a finger to his lips before he, seemingly without effort, opens the window. He grins when I scowl at him, which only makes me want to punch him. The red haired man swings himself over the window sill, and climbs part of the way down the building before leaping to the ground.

I stare at him for a moment, and realize that he's waiting for me to come down. Cursing him in my mind, I angrily climb out the window. As I begin to go down the wall I realize it will be a lot harder to go down then it was going up, because the wood is now wet and slippery from the rain. I manage to make it about three feet below the ledge before I slip, landing on the muddy ground below with a splash.

The man breaks into quiet laughter, which gets louder as I try to climb to my feet, only to slip and fall back into the mud. My face burning with humiliation and anger I hiss at him to shut up. Still chuckling, he walks over and offers me his hand. Staring at it for a moment, I take it, and he pulls me to my feet. I let go almost instantly, glaring and trying to wipe mud off myself as best I can.

Taking a discreet step back, I practically have to crane my neck to make eye contact with him. He looks me up and down, his twinkling green eyes unreadable.

Holding out his hand again, he finally speaks.

"I'm Brynjolf."


	16. Chapter 16

**ATTENTION: This is for the people who have already read this far into the fanfic. I have made some minor changes in chapters 8,9, and 12. Nothing too drastic of course. One of my reviewers (Moth Mouth) pointed out that I could make it slightly more realistic so I took some things out, and added some new things in. I don't think the changes I made are so drastic that you won't understand the story from here on out, but if you wanted to reread any of that, I suggest you at least reread Callista's conversation with Hadvar (9), and the dragon fight (12). Sorry for the inconvenience!  
**

***Also, I just wanted to say thank you again for everyone reviewing my writing! It means a lot, and I like to be able to know how I can improve. Enjoy the chapter! :D  
**

***Feel free to leave any constructive criticism you might have as well as what you dislike/like about the chapter! XD Enjoy!**

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Chapter 16

I stare at Brynjolf's outstretched hand, and then fold my arms stubbornly. He laughs as he withdraws his hand, his eyes twinkling merrily, a charming smile on his lips. He pushes sodden hair from his eyes, making me realize that I too am soaked through, not only from my fall, but from the persistent rain that hammers down from above. My own hair is plastered to the sides of my face, and I make an effort to swipe the tangled mass behind my ears, which only creates more knots.

"Might I say that you have an interesting way of breaking and entering, lass?" His words flow from his mouth like water, the makings of a con-man if I ever did meet one. I continue to scowl at him, not willing to speak just yet. My less than graceful tumble from the window is still too recent. Brynjolf pauses, waiting to see if I'm planning on responding. When I remain stonily silent, he continues. "I think that we could help each other. I assist in running a guild that could use someone like you." My curiosity perks up when I hear this, my frown fading slightly. I don't trust this man, but if what he says is true then I just found a way to avoid being recaptured by the Imperials.

He senses my hesitation. "There would be plenty of money in it for you, and a place to stay where you would be out of sight." He reaches into the cloth bag slung over his shoulder, drawing out a folded piece of paper, which he then hands to me. I unfold it already knowing what it is, a sinking feeling in my gut.

I hold a wanted poster identical to the one I found back in Whiterun. My face stares back at me, with my name below. A bounty of a thousand septims goes to anyone who manages to bring me alive to the nearest Imperial camp.

I finally decide to speak. "How do I know that I can trust you?"

"Well, one reason could be the fact that I've already taken down all of these posters, so no one will recognize you here; another is that anyone with your particular skill set is welcome in my guild."

"I'm guessing you mean a Thieves Guild?"

"You would be guessing right, lass."

We stand in silence, assessing each other again. The rain seems to pour down even harder, sending streams of icy water down my spine. Water drips into my eyes, and I blink furiously, my vision blurred. Right now, I'm willing to take just about any offer to get out of this rain.

"Fine," I say, my voice resigned. "Lead the way." Brynjolf grins smugly, making me wish I hadn't accepted already. With a spring in his step, he heads back towards the main street, going around the side of the house we just exited. He reaches up, and pulls his hood back up over his head, though he's just as soaked as I am. Most likely is hiding his face from the guards. Hunching my shoulders, I try to ward off the cold as I trudge after him.

We cut across the main street until we stand on a covered wooden sidewalk that leads in front of the homes of Riften. The awning above our heads has gaps every few yards, but it provides much more protection from the rain than anywhere else.

It takes us about ten minutes to get to our destination, which is a cemetery. It's unkempt, a few nightshade flowers blooming around the cracked, moss covered tomb stones. In the center of the graveyard is a tiny building that's housing a large stone coffin. On either side of the doorway is a large symbol; it's a diamond shape with a circle in its center.

_Is that the guild symbol?_

Brynjolf walks towards the tomb, me trailing cautiously behind him. The unpleasant scent of mildew surrounds us as we stand side by side in the tiny building, out of the rain. My companion turns to me, his eyes shining impishly at me.

"This is where the fun begins," he says, excitement and pride in his voice. He reaches down to the front of the coffin, fingers finding a symbol identical to those on the walls outside. In the center of the symbol is a button which he presses down before backing up. Grabbing the straps on the back of my armor he pulls me back as well, just as the floor that we were standing on moves beneath the coffin with a loud grating sound. Beneath is a tiny set of stairs, which lead to a wooden trap door.

_Clever; they put their hideout underground. _Then I realize what that means. I'm going to be stuck underground. That seems almost unbearable as I remember my time in Helgen. I didn't realize until now just how scared I've been of something like that happening again. My thoughts begin to cloud with fear as I attempt to pull away from Brynjolf.

"On second thought, I think I'm going to try to surviving up here. Thanks for the offer though!" I turn around and try to leave. There's a burning sensation in my abdomen, which I normally would be concerned about because it usually signals an oncoming episode of my disease; I'm too busy trying to get out of here though to care. I try to take a step, but I'm jerked back. Brynjolf is still holding onto my armor, and he's not letting me get away this easily.

"What, are you claustrophobic?" He says this in a joking manner.

"No," I growl. "I just don't like being… underground."

Brynjolf stares at me for a second, probably wondering if I'm being serious. Something in my face must tell him I'm as serious as someone can be, because he nods slightly, as if to himself.

"Give it a chance, lass." He pats my shoulder a few times with his hand letting go of my armor and allowing me to turn back around. "Once you go down there, you won't be scared at all."

"I'm _not_ scared," I insist, embarrassed.

"Whatever you say," Brynjolf says, with such a patronizing tone that I want to slap him. Unfortunately, while I'm distracted, he manages to get a grip on my wrist and tug me down two of the five steps. I start to struggle against his hold on my wrist, when the pain in my abdomen flares again. He pulls me down another step. "I promise, it's going to be perfectly all right, lass."

I'm silent as he tugs me down the two remaining stairs. Still holding my wrist, he pulls a chain to my left, and the stone slab moves back into its place above our heads. The air is close around us, and I take in a deep breath, fighting the urge to hyperventilate, my panic growing with each second. I move my hand inches from my face and can barely make out its outline it's so dark down here.

Is the dragon still there? I can practically hear its roar, and the mostly healed burn on my arm twinges. My eyes water as I recall the suffocating smoke that had been everywhere, in the air and deep in my lungs. My heart races, my panic driving it at a breakneck pace. Glass shards embedded in my hands, ropes around my wrists, blood in my mouth. The walls are closing in, I can't breathe. I'm going to die.

_It's not real, it's not real, _I think to myself. I'm barely aware of Brynjolf letting go of my wrist. He crouches down and unlocks something, probably the latch on the trapdoor. With a creak and a flood of buttery light, he opens the door. My sanity returns with the light. I take a gulping breath of clean, smoke free air, my hands trembling with both adrenaline and relief.

"After you," he says as he guides me to a ladder, leading down into the light.

With shaking hands and unsteady legs, I clumsily climb down the ladder. Brynjolf's face appears at the top of the ladder, and I move to the side so he can come down. Planting a hand on the wall beside me, I close my eyes while I try to lower my heart rate.

Brynjolf lands on the ground beside me, and I open my eyes, straightening my back to regain some of my dignity. "See? It wasn't that bad," he says, apparently oblivious to my panic attack.

"Yeah… right." My voice is steadier than I thought it would be. I take another deep breath.

"Welcome to the Thieves Guild."

I turn around, and my jaw drops open at the room before me, my fear forgotten. Brynjolf laughs at my expression as I take a few hesitant steps inside. Most of the floor is made of sparkling crisp water. It dances merrily, the torch light reflecting off of it, and making beautiful swirling patterns appear on the walls around us. Four stone bridges are built over it, and they meet in the center of the room. Far above, rain droplets trickle inside through a skylight of sorts, dim light casting shadows along the floor and walls, making the torch light seem brighter. This is definitely not what I was expecting. I thought it was going to be some dark dungeon like area with no light, and people who would slit your throat as soon as they look at you.

I'm distracted from the sight before me though when the pain in my abdomen worsens; this time it doesn't go away. I place a hand on my stomach, stumbling forward a few steps.

"What's wrong?" Brynjolf appears in front of me, his mouth drawn in a tight line of concern, immediately aware that something isn't right. Whenever I breathe, the pain increases even more. My vision begins to blur, a headache fast approaching.

"Is there a more private room somewhere?" I ask, gasping at the fiery pain that is spreading into my lungs. My knees are trembling with the effort of keeping me standing, and I slouch forwards. Not asking questions, Brynjolf guides me out of the room into a tunnel.

We take a left, where there is a wooden door which is partially opened. Nudging it open, Brynjolf guides me to a bed in the corner. I cough, and I know I'm about to have an incredibly unpleasant night. Another cough forms in my throat, with it the taste of blood.

_The attacks don't usually happen this quickly._ "Do you have any healing potions here?" I feel feverish, weak. Brynjolf nods, and leaves the room. I practically collapse on the bed.

_Divines, help me survive this. Why does this have to happen to me? _ I hate these attacks. Now I'm stuck in a place that I don't know, at my most vulnerable, while I'm on the run from soldiers. _My life has just been so great lately,_ I think sarcastically just as my body is wracked with a fit of coughing that brings up blood.

Brynjolf returns, his hands filled with bottles of the red liquid that will help ease my suffering. He uncorks one for me, and holds it out for me to take. My hands, which are shaking again, can barely hold onto the glass bottle. I manage to drink it all though, coughing and spluttering as it takes effect, lessening the pain ever so slightly.

"What do you need?" Brynjolf still looks concerned. I try to smile at him, but I end up grimacing instead, my eyes squinting shut in pain.

"I just need to sleep." He nods, and takes a seat at the table, apparently determined to wait it out with me.

_He's probably just worried that I'm contagious,_ I think angrily. Then the attack happens.


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello! I can't thank you all enough for reading my story! It means the world to me. Unfortunately, school is starting back up, and I've decided to take a break from fanfiction for a little while, so I can focus on school. I'm sorry this is so sudden, and it kills me to do it, because I enjoy writing this as much as you hopefully enjoy reading it. Think of this as the season finale if you want! The next 'season premiere' will be around September 20th (possibly earlier depending on some factors.)  
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**Anyways, I give you Chapter 17 of Callista's adventures! Please enjoy! As always, feel free to write me a review to tell me how I could improve it, or if you just really liked it and wanted to let me know, I would be incredibly happy!**

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Chapter 17

_Pain. _It burns like fire. If I move I will fall apart. My breath comes in short gasps, my lungs refusing air. I can't withstand this. Even unconsciousness brings me no relief.

Reality blurs with dreams and hallucinations, leaving me nowhere to be safe. I open my eyes to see snakes writhing around me on my bed. Cold, dead hands reach from beneath to pull me under. A dragon roars, and the walls turn black with blood. A child screams, or maybe that's me. I slip back into unconsciousness.

* * *

My parents' backs are to me as they walk away. "Don't leave me!" My voice sounds like it did when I was a child. "Please, stay here!" They continue to walk, ignoring me for a moment.

Then, mother turns her head. "We don't want you. You are worthless to us. We never loved you." Her normally kind face twists into a cold sneer. I forget how to breathe as my parents disappear, leaving me again. Tears burn at my eyes. I'm alone again.

* * *

My back arches as a fresh surge of pain flashes through me. I want to die, but I can't. Stubborn as always, my mind won't allow it. My bones feel broken inside me, my organs twisted beyond use. I feel as if I've been like this for years, for eternity. When will this stop?

* * *

Where am I? Dizziness makes the room swirl, which is familiar almost immediately. I recognize the room, the candle still burning on the table in the middle of the room. Someone is seated at it.

_I'm awake_, I think. Something doesn't feel right though. The room is too quiet. Whoever is seated at the table climbs to their feet. They turn around to face me, their face covered in a dark cowl. All I can see are their eyes, which shine a brilliant green. _Brynjolf?_

Walking towards me, the green eyed figure draws a knife from his belt. My eyes widen, but I can't move. He plunges it into my chest.

* * *

I don't remember what light looks like. Darkness swirls behind my eyelids, showing me images of horror. It seems to physically pierce my brain, causing more pain to wash over me, starting in my head, and traveling through my body like a wave.

I don't recall the way water soothes, or the taste of food. Hunger claws at me, a monster in my belly that needs to be fed. My throat is too dry to make more then a pained whimper.

What does a cool breeze feel like? My skin burns with fever, the room I'm in filled with hot air. It's too still. My soul longs for comfort, and to be free of the pain, the heat. How am I still alive? I don't want to be. I'm not one to give up easily, but this is too much.

* * *

I'm suspended above Tamriel, possibly dead, as I watch fires eat away the trees and the cities. My eyes water from the smoke, but I can't look away. The fire devours everything in its path, a feral creature with a mind of its own. Earthquakes shake the land, the trees of Valenwood falling, and the mountains of Skyrim crumbling. Cyrodil is flooded, torrents of water tearing down the Imperial City. The land of Morrowind, already covered in ash is entirely destroyed as more volcanoes erupt.

The world is ending, I think, true fear deep within my heart_._

* * *

I crack my eyes open, hoping that the worst is over, but not daring to believe it. My mind feels clear, thoughts forming easily enough. My body throbs, but that's only a side effect from the attack. I try to clear my throat, but realize that it is too dry and bruised to emit a noise. Opening my eyes farther, I attempt to sit up, my bones creaking and my muscles tight with stiffness. Dizziness clouds my vision as the blood rushes from my head, which aches horribly. I absently wonder how long I've been out.

The candle on the table is sill burning, though it is only a stub of melted wax at this point. I glance to my left, and on a small night table beside me is a pitcher of water, a glass, and three healing potions. Folded beside them is a small note, which I attempt to grab. It is then that I realize my hands are bandaged. The bandages have red blotches on them where they cover my palms.

_What? Why are my hands...?_ I don't have to finish my thought. Caked beneath my fingernails is dried blood; I must have dug my fingernails into my hands so hard they broke the skin. With a groan, I wrap an injured hand around one of the healing potions. It's a higher quality potion, the bottle larger, and the color a more vibrant red than the cheap ones I usually steal.

I take a painful sip, relishing the cool liquid as it slides across my dry tongue, and down my parched throat. In a frenzy of thirst, I gulp down the potion and half of another one before I realize what I'm doing. Placing both the bottles back on the table, I wait as the potion takes effect.

A sigh of relief escapes me as my head stops pounding and the skin on my palms knits itself together again. I feel almost normal now. Or at least my body feels almost recovered. My mind is a different matter.

In my entire life, I've had at least fifteen of these attacks. Never once were the visions so vivid or life like. I'm amazed that I am able to retain my sanity after what I just experienced.

I ponder my situation for a few more moments before I remember the note on the table. With newly healed hands I reach over and pick up the slip of paper. Glancing over it, I realize it's a note from Brynjolf. It says:

**Callista, I expect an explanation when you wake up. You can find me in the tavern.** Then it explains how to get to the tavern. I can't help feeling slightly miffed. He was the one who asked me to join this stupid guild in the first place. It's not my fault that I ended up having an attack right when I got here.

_He can get over it, _I think angrily. _I'm not leaving that easily. _Quickly finishing off the second potion, I get to my feet slowly. Thankfully, I'm still in my armor; I doubt I would have been able to strap it on right now. Even healing potions can't heal me entirely from this. A dull pain still thuds in my abdomen, making it so I can't take a deep breath without wincing. My head is already starting to pound again.

_Back to the routine,_ I think grimly, used to the various aches and pains, but wishing they weren't there all the same. As I walk, my legs gain some of their strength back, becoming ever so slightly steadier. When I reach the hallway outside my room, I check the note to make sure I remember correctly. It says to turn left until I reach a wooden panel, which I can slide to the side.

_Seems simple enough, _I think, turning left. I walk down the dimly lit hallway for about a hundred meters, before I spot the warm yellow light seeping from beneath the panel described in Brynjolf's note. Preparing myself for whatever he plans on saying to me, I open the panel, walking through the doorway.

In ways, the tavern is almost entirely different from the first room I was in when I came to the Thieves Guild. The only similarity is that both rooms contain water. This room however is grimy, and the water is murky, with bits of Divines knows what floating in it. The tavern part of the room is filled with a few rickety tables and chairs, goat's horn candles on a few of them.

Dragging my eyes from the dingy room, I immediately spot Brynjolf's red hair, which practically glows in the meager candlelight. He's seated at a table on the far side of the room, his back to me.

_He probably knows I'm here though._

As if reading my thoughts, he says, "Come on, lass. I'm eager to hear that explanation of yours." I fight the urge to throw something at the back of his head, and shuffle over to the table, sitting down across from him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like you care," I snap, still mad that he's doing this. Brynjolf ignores my outburst, waiting patiently for me to explain. I sigh resignedly, and begin to tell him my story.

By the time I finish, I've found out that I was sick for two days. He's rested his chin on both of his hands as he gazes at me thoughtfully. Candlelight makes the green of his eyes glint. A chill creeps up my spine. All of a sudden, I lose any sense of safety, and I try to figure out why. My eyes widen when I recall one of my nightmares.

_Was it Brynjolf who stabbed me? _It was just a dream, but what if he plans on just getting rid of me? My thoughts flick through all the reasons it makes it easier for him to kill me down here. In my growing panic, I don't bother to consider the fact that he's given me healing potions and a bed to sleep in. While I worry, he says something. I don't hear him?

"W-what did you say?" I stammer out, realizing I had been staring at his face. Looking down at the table, I try to listen.

"So you don't know of any cure?" I shake my head mutely. He continues. "I suppose as long as your… condition doesn't affect your abilities, you can stay here." I glance up quickly, surprised, and still slightly suspicious.

"Are you sure you want me here?" I narrow my eyes at him.

"I know for a fact that you are light on your feet, and I can see the calluses on your hands from using lockpicks. Obviously you have practice." I blush, not used to receiving praise. For the moment my suspicion of him is forgotten as pride takes it's place in my mind.

"When do I start?"

Brynjolf throws his head back in laughter. "How well do you feel right now?" Of course, I should probably tell him I feel awful because I do, and then I should go back to bed to rest. A sudden urge to be back above ground makes up my mind though.

"I feel fine!" I say a little too loudly, slightly too enthusiastic. I clear my throat, and then say in a quieter tone, "I'm ready for whatever job you can give me."

Seeing my seriousness, Brynjolf nods. "It will be a relatively easy job for you, but you need to prove yourself to the other guild leaders." He pauses, thinking. "You will need to go to Haelga's bunkhouse. Her most prized possession, a statue of Dibella, is somewhere inside. I want you to steal it without getting caught. You can keep anything else you find for yourself." I nod and practically jump to my feet.

"I need some lockpicks," I say, a last minute thought. Brynjolf, prepared, tosses me five, tied together with a strip of leather.

"You remember the way out?"

"Yes!" I call over my shoulder, almost at the panel already. It would seem that my new job has given me a burst of renewed energy.

It takes me nearly five minutes to get above ground. I close my eyes as the stone slab slides ever so slowly away. Barely waiting for it to slide all the way in, I scramble up the moss covered steps into the fresh air.

I walk as calmly as possible away from the graveyard, the stone slab sliding shut behind me, I revel in the warm morning sunlight that plays across my face and arms. Birds croon their love songs to one another from up on the roofs of the buildings, and a cool breeze causes the few trees nearby to flutter merrily, as if waving to one another. I smile to myself, on the verge of being giddy, the feeling of freedom growing with each second.

I walk out of the graveyard, and out from behind the buildings that cover it. I take a few moments to observe the city. Before me it seems is the market area; the various merchants have begun to set up shop for the day. Citizens begin to trickle into the area to browse the items for sale.

On further examination, I notice a railing surrounding the outskirts of the market. I walk over to it, and see a set of rickety stairs that lead down to a wooden walkway surrounding the center, the city's core in a sense. Dark water laps at the walkway, which is rotten in places. _That looks safe._

Tipping my head back up, I then spot what appears to be the bunkhouse, a two story building made of logs like the rest of the establishments here. It is directly across from me, on the other side of the market. When I begin to walk to it though, a woman's scream cuts through the air, coming from my left. I spin around, spotting a tiny building that I had ignored, thinking it was just a house. Now I spot the sign above the door: Honorhall Orphanage.

This isn't what catches my attention though. A slim figure walks out of the building quickly, sheathing a bloody dagger. She pulls a hood up to cover her raven hair, which is now chopped to just below her chin. The woman seems to sense my presence, and turns her head. We make eye contact, silver verses brown. Her eyes narrow as mine widen.

It's Dahlia.

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**Thoughts? I did my best, and I hope you all enjoyed it! Please don't give up on me; I promise I will start updating again by September**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello readers! I've missed you all. I apologize for the long wait, but I'm back for good now. I think this chapter is a little rocky, but please feel free to share your thoughts on it! I love to hear your opinions, and want to make this as enjoyable for you guys as possible. With that being said, here is chapter 18! Please enjoy! :D**

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Chapter 18

Dahlia stares at me, her steely eyes calculating, predatory; wariness makes my skin prickle. I feel myself take an involuntary step back as she walks away from the orphanage and closer to me. She looks at me again as she places her slim hands on the railing I stand next to, as if daring me to say anything. Then, with cat-like grace, she swings herself over, and vanishes into the shadows below. My mind can't seem to keep up with what just happened. I stare at the place where she disappeared a moment longer.

A woman appears in the doorway to the orphanage, a look of shock on her face. Then she shouts, "Someone's killed Grelod!" People hurry from the market towards the tiny orphanage to aid the shaken woman as well as see if the news is true.

As more people gather in front of the tiny building, I realize standing so close to the crime scene might not be the best idea for me; I need to keep a low profile. Trying to decide where to go, I glance around. I see the wooden stairs beside me, and take a step towards them.

_This isn't a good idea,_ I think, stepping down onto the top stair. _Dahlia could still be down there. What's keeping her from killing me next? _Ignoring the rational voice in my head, I continue down the stairs, which creak under my weight. As I descend into the darkness, my hand hovers near my sword belt; I have to be ready to defend myself if the need arises. I reach the bottom of the stairs, and stand silently, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, holding my breath.

After what feels like hours, I'm able to make out my surroundings, and I walk as quietly as I can further out onto the walkway. _Where is she? _I wonder, beginning to think she's already left the city. Almost immediately though I discover I'm wrong.

I hear the creak of wood behind me, and spin around, seeing a dark figure standing before me. Her eyes glint in the darkness, and my heart skips a beat when I see the dagger in her hand, still wet with her last kill's blood. Backing up hurriedly, I try to think of an escape plan; fear makes me irrational though, and my mind comes up blank. Dahlia advances towards me.

As she gets closer, I reach down to my sword, trying to pull it from its sheathe. I never get the chance though. She seems to practically fly at me she moves so fast. Ramming into me with strength I wouldn't ever associate with someone her size, Dahlia knocks me over. I land on my back, the wind knocked out of me. Before I can struggle out from beneath her, she places the cool edge of the dagger against my neck.

I become completely still, my heart racing in my chest. Dahlia presses the knife to my neck hard enough to break the skin. Warm blood trickles down my neck, and onto the ground below me, and I wait for her to deal the killing blow. She doesn't move though. Glancing at her face, I find she won't meet my eyes. Her hesitation makes me bold.

"You don't have the guts," I hiss at her. Dahlia's eyes snap to mine then, fury in them, and she applies more pressure to the dagger, causing me to gasp as my air supply is nearly cut off; more blood runs down my neck, and the wound along my throat stings. Still, she doesn't actually kill me, which gives me the smallest spark of hope.

I maintain eye contact with Dahlia, and painstakingly wrap the fingers of my left hand around my dagger, careful not to move my arm too much. Breathing in as deeply as I can, I tighten my grip on the dagger to keep my hand from shaking. Clenching my teeth, I unsheathe the dagger, and shove it up into her side.

Dahlia jerks backwards as she covers the wound with her hand, blood turning her fingers red. Scrambling out from under her, I move the dagger from my left hand to my right, and brace my feet against the ground. She doesn't attack though, which fills me with relief. Instead, she backs up until she's about five feet away, then spins on her heel and runs up the stairs back into Riften.

* * *

Crouching down, I place my hand on my throat and try to slow my heart rate down. After about ten minutes, I feel calm enough to get to my feet. I reach down and tear a strip off the bottom of my pants and use it to wipe my neck. The wound stings, but it has already stopped bleeding.

_I'll need to get Brynjolf to give me another healing potion. _Trudging up the stairs, tiny droplets of ruby red blood gleam on the ground. I glance around, though I know that Dahlia is most likely long gone by now. People seem to be unaware of what just occurred below the city, and they've gone back to their jobs. Children play outside of the orphanage, their laughter and shouts full of happiness, which confuses me. Someone just died in there. How can they be happy? Even so, I envy them momentarily. When was the last time _I_ was happy like that? Then I remember the reason I'm even out here in the first place, and I banish those thoughts from my mind.

_I don't need distractions. Haelga's bunkhouse, statue of Dibella. _It seems ridiculous to worry about robbing someone at the moment. I did just almost die after all. The temptation to leave Riften right now is incredibly strong, but the Thieves Guild is the only place I'll be safe at for now. Just in case, I look around again, making sure I don't spot Dahlia lurking in the shadows. I'm still baffled by the fact that she didn't just murder me without a second thought; I fee l slightly guilty for stabbing her, but it was out of self defense. I laugh to myself, amazed at how I've managed to last this long. Executions, dragons, and now an assassin that happens to be the Dragonborn; this is my life now.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull the set of lockpicks from Brynjolf out. One of them is bent out of shape and another one has already snapped. It probably happened when Dahlia knocked me over. Shaking my head, I place the remaining lockpicks back in my pocket, and begin to walk towards the bunkhouse.

Needing to focus my thoughts, I begin to formulate a plan. Brynjolf didn't give me much information. All I know is that the statue is _somewhere _in the building. Since it's only a bunkhouse, it won't be hard for me to get in. The problem is once I'm in, how can I get the statue out easily, without being noticed? Something tells me I won't be able to fit it in my pocket.

_Maybe I could rent a room? I don't have money though. _The second I think this, I can't help laughing quietly. I'm a thief surrounded by people in a market, and I'm worried about not having money. Glancing up, I spot a middle aged man talking to a vendor. The important part about him though is the relatively large coin purse on his belt. I can't stop the wicked grin that spreads across my face.

Looking down at my feet as if I'm deep in thought, I walk quickly over to where he stands, bumping his shoulder with mine as I grab the purse from his belt.

"I'm so sorry!" I say loudly, my eyes wide. Discreetly, I hold the purse behind my back.

"Watch where you're going next time," the man snaps, scowling at me. I duck my head apologetically, and then continue to walk to the bunkhouse. I reach the door, and stand outside of it for a few minutes, trying to make myself look presentable. I comb my fingers through my hair, and then tie it behind my head. The familiar surge of adrenaline I get when I plan to steal something floods my veins.

_This is why I'm a thief, _I think, smiling to myself. I open the door, and step inside. The building smells like mead, and is well lit from goat's horn candles on the walls. A few people chat quietly in a small sitting area to my left. On my other side is a small room with a set of stairs leading to the top floor in it. In front of me is a counter, behind which stands a tired looking Nord woman, who looks at me as if I'm a dead skeever that she doesn't feel like cleaning up. This must be Haelga.

Walking up to the counter, I do my best to smile at the pinched face woman. "I'd like a bed please." She stares at me a moment longer, and then begins wiping the counter down with a rag, ignoring me rather effectively. Swallowing my annoyance, I clear my throat. "I _said _I'd like a bed." I continue to smile, but I feel like it's turning into more of a grimace. Behind me, the door opens, and the man I recently pickpocketed walks by, sitting down at one of the tables.

Haelga looks at me again. "I heard you," she says, still frowning at me. "I'm just not going to rent you a bed. I don't rent beds to the likes of you." It takes an immense amount of effort for me to keep myself composed; my smile fades ever so slightly.

"Look, I don't see what the problem is," I say, trying to sound reasonable. "I'm willing to pay. I just want a bed."

"And I want to be a queen. You don't see me complaining." Clenching my hand into a fist, I back away from the counter.

"I'll be going now then." Haelga just grunts, and then begins to wipe the counter down again.

_I guess I'll be breaking in later then. _Just as I'm about to leave though, the man from earlier leaps to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor, and he begins to shout at a man sitting behind him.

"I'm calling the guards! You stole my money!" The other man gets to his feet as well, a look of outrage on his face. The two continue to argue, their voices escalating. Everyone else just stares at them. Right as it's about to get violent, Haelga shoves by me while shouting at them to break it up. As the three of them scream and shout, I decide to take advantage of this distraction.

Walking quickly towards the stairs, I prepare to run up them. Something glints in my peripheral vision though. Turning, I realize that there's an alcove behind the wall; I just couldn't tell from the angle I had looked at it. On small chest of drawers, surrounded by fresh flowers, sits the statue. It's about a foot tall, and is made of gold. I can practically taste its value, and my hands itch to pick it up.

Haelga and the two men are still screaming in the other room, so I walk over to the statue and pick it up, weighing it in my hands. It's heavy, and awkward to carry. How am I going to get it back to the Guild? People will notice if I walk out of here with it.

_Maybe there's a bag in here I can use._ I try to pull one of the drawers open, and find that it's locked. Placing the statue back in its place, I remove the lockpicks from my pocket. Cracking my knuckles, I get to work on the lock; the drawer is unlocked in moments, and I nod my head in satisfaction. Digging through the drawers, I find a table cloth and some aprons. With a shrug, I grab the table cloth and wrap the statue in it tightly, tucking it under my arm.

As I leave the alcove, Haelga shouts at the men to leave. I saunter out of the bunkhouse, not feeling even a speck of remorse for pickpocketing or stealing this lovely statue.

_I guess I really am part of the Thieves Guild now._

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**A/N: As always, I love your opinions! Please tell me what you thought about the chapter! Also, I'm open to suggestions for future chapters. :)**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello! Here's the next chapter. I apologize if it drags, but that's because (if everything turns out) some big stuff should be happening soon. As always, I love what you guys have to say, so do share! Also, thank you to all my reviewers out there! You mean the world to me, and I'm glad you're willing to take time to share your opinions about my fanfiction.**

**If you want to read other TES stories, definitely check harmoniedusoir out! They are one of my top reviewers, so a special thanks to you!**

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Chapter 19

My second time going into the Thieves Guild goes much more smoothly, though my skin does still crawl with apprehension as the stone slab closes above me. Yanking the trap door open, I let the light from below flood in. Sitting still for only a moment, I hug the statue of Dibella to my chest and leap to the floor below, ignoring the ladder. Landing in a crouch, my feet hit the floor with a soft thump; I wince at the noise.

_I need to work on that. _A thief needs to be light on their feet, virtually silent, no matter what they're carrying. Straightening my legs, I look around the room, able to take in more details now that I'm not delirious with pain, or in a hurry to leave.

Around the edges of the room, there are beds. Some of the beds are occupied, the people who must be my new guild mates fast asleep in them. They all wear either simple clothing, or the armor similar to that which Brynjolf was wearing when we first met.

To my left about thirty feet away, I can see the door that Brynjolf rushed me through before my attack, and where I entered from this morning. However, on the right side of the room across from the other doors, there are two grand doors that are at least three feet taller than I am. It's amazing I never managed to notice them. Aside from their size, these doors have what looks like the highest quality locks money can buy. I've taken five steps towards them, fingers itching to examine the locks, before I even realize what I'm doing. Shaking my head, I remind myself that I need to get the statue to Brynjolf.

With one last longing look at the locks, I turn on my heel and walk towards the door to my left. Once through them, I decide to stop off in my borrowed room to drink a health potion. The cut on my throat is beginning to sting again, and there's always the risk of another attack if I'm not careful.

The door is cracked open, but the room is dark as far as I can tell. With a sigh, I push the door open with a creak and step into the dark room. Taking a few steps in, I abruptly stop. I'm overcome with the feeling that _something _is wrong. The door behind me slams shut; my heart skips a beat. For a brief moment I believe it's Dahlia, back to exact her revenge. Then a cool female voice speaks; I'm filled with both relief and dread at the stranger's voice.

"You're not welcome here," she says, her voice quiet and filled with barely concealed contempt. My eyes are slowly adjusting to the dark, and I'm able to make out pale skin and white blonde hair. Backing up, I place the statue on the floor by my feet, and search blindly for something to light the candle on the table; I find what feels like a few matches on the night table with my potions on it. Taking one of them, I strike it against the stone wall beside me, my hands shaking slightly with a renewed surge of adrenaline.

After a couple of tries, the match flares up, and I walk to the candle on the other table. The wick catches momentarily, and the candle bathes the room in dim light. I turn, trying my best to seem casual, as I look at this new person.

She has the pale skin and hair of a Nord. Her eyes are light brown, and are narrowed in anger at me. Though she's got the height of a Nord, she's not nearly as big boned as many Nord women are; she's got the slender build of a thief.

"I suggest you leave tonight," the woman says through her clenched teeth. "You'll regret it if you don't."

My own anger rises; I've had a tiring day, and I'm not about to let her make it worse. "And who are you?" I'm proud that my voice is just as icy as hers.

"The name's Vex," she spits out. "Now leave."

"I don't think I will." Leaning against the table beside me, I cross my arms for emphasis. I've gone through too much for this woman, Vex, to just kick me out. "You can go if you want to," I say sweetly, my eyes narrowing like hers. Vex takes a few steps towards me; she stops inches from me, towering menacingly over my head.

"What did you say, beggar?" Without a word, I get to my own feet. I swallow as I realize the top of my chin barely reaches her chin. This should be interesting.

Vex laughs coldly as I glare up at her. "What're you going to do, you little freak? Spit blood on me?" That's almost enough to make me start a fight with her, but the familiar ache in my abdomen serves as a warning sign.

_Breathe, Callista. She's not worth your time. _My hands shaking with rage, I snatch my stolen statue off the floor, my fingers knotting in the fabric it's wrapped in. Vex sneers at me as I storm out of the room, believing that she's won. _I'll get her later,_ I think, a dark smile spreading across my own face.

* * *

I head straight for the tavern, not knowing where else to find Brynjolf. As I walk in, I immediately notice the people. There are about five, seated at the tables; they are all talking quietly, not aware that I stand here. A flash of anxiety is enough to make me willing to go back above ground.

_Maybe I should just leave. _Clutching the statue like a lifeline, I back up towards the door I just entered from. I know eventually I will have to meet these people, but if they're anything like Vex I would love to postpone that meeting for as long as possible.

"I'm over here, Cal!" That stops me in my tracks. Am I Cal? Brynjolf stands up from the table he was seated at earlier and waves me over, confirming my suspicions that I have acquired a nickname. I groan inwardly as every head in the establishment turns towards me. Ducking my head, I walk quickly over to where he sits. I feel as if everyone's eyes are burning holes into me. Dropping down into the seat across from him, I place the statue on the table in front of Brynjolf.

"You did it, lass. Excellent job," the red haired thief says with the usual twinkle still in his eyes. "I liked your technique. You could move a little faster though."

"How do you know about my technique?" He grins at me from across the table, his teeth gleaming in the candle light.

"I have eyes everywhere, lass."

"Whatever," I sigh, understanding I'm not getting any answers out of him. "Does this mean I'm part of the guild now?" Brynjolf nods while reaching across the table to the wrapped object in front of me. His green eyes gleam as he uncovers the shining golden object; I'm sure my face looked much the same as his when I first saw it. When he looks back up at me, he notices the cut across my throat for the first time.

"What happened there?" He points, curiosity in his eyes. I don't feel like explaining, so I answer his question with one of my own.

"Why steal from Haelga? I'm sure there are other people in this city with something valuable."

He leans back in his chair. "Haelga has turned in many a thief in her day. Most of them ended up dead or in jail. What better way to get back at her than steal her most valued belonging?"

_What goes around comes around,_ I think, smiling to myself at the memory of stealing her treasure right under her nose. Brynjolf clears his throat, and I look up.

"So what happened to your neck, lass?"

I shrug. "It's nothing. Anyways, I thought you had eyes everywhere. Shouldn't you know?" We lock eyes, a silent battle of our wills. As I look at his green eyes, I remember my dream. It definitely seems unlikely that Brynjolf would want to kill me as he seems to be doing his best to help me survive. Still, a sense of paranoia settles over me like a cloud. Clearing my throat I look away.

There's more silence between us for a moment, and then Brynjolf speaks up. "Go take a healing potion, lass. Then I'll set you up with some armor."

I remember Vex back in my room. "I'll pass on the potion," I say with a slight scowl. "There's vermin in my room currently."

"Oh? What kind?" I can practically hear the smile in Brynjolf's voice. He must think I'm scared of skeevers.

"Well," I say. "She's tall, blonde, and out for my blood." I look up in time to see Brynjolf's smile fade away; it's replaced with an uncharacteristic scowl of his own.

"Vex?"

"You got that right," I mutter. My abdomen twinges, but it doesn't hurt enough to worry me. Abruptly exhaustion washes over me, and it's an effort to keep my head up. I probably over did it today, seeing how a day ago I wasn't even conscious. "Could you possibly remove her from my room? I've had a long day; I just want some sleep."

"Aye, I can handle her," Brynjolf says with a sigh. He climbs to his feet, and I follow suit. The other people stare at me as we walk out of the tavern, but I ignore them, too tired to care at this point.

We proceed to my room. I immediately notice the nearly overpowering scent of healing potions when we reach it. The candle is no longer lit, so I can't see anything. Brynjolf pulls a bundle of matches out of his pocket and lights the candle. When I see the room, dismay must be evident on my features. My new boss pats me on the shoulder.

Someone, most likely Vex, smashed all of the healing potions against the floor; red liquid trickles between the stones, and is splattered across the wall. The night table they had been on is on its side, a large scratch across the top of it. Dragging my eyes from the shattered remains of my pain relief, a groan escapes me. Though the frame to the bed is still in one piece, the mattress and quilt have been shredded. Stuffing and bits of fabric litter the floor.

"_I'm. Going. To. Kill. Her._" I growl through clenched teeth. Of course, I doubt I mean what I say, but it makes me feel ever so slightly better to say those words. All I wanted was to sleep, and now unless I plan on sleeping on the glass covered stone floor, or the bare bed frame, that won't be happening. Then I recall the beds in the main room. Not all of them were occupied last time I checked.

Glancing at Brynjolf, he seems to understand what I'm thinking. "I'll keep my eye on Vex if you want to sleep in one of the empty beds. You _are_ technically entitled to one now that you're in the guild." I nod my head jerkily in response, still at a loss for words at the destruction before me.

With one last glance around the room, I trudge towards the door. Nervousness fills me at the thought of sleeping in the same room as other people, especially people who could behave like Vex. I decide that if they are all like her, then I'll take my chances with the Imperials. It's doubtful that I mean that either, but I'm so tired; I can't really make myself care.

* * *

When I enter the cistern for the third time today, I glance around to see who's here. Sending a silent thank you to the Divines when I don't see Vex anywhere, I take a few more cautious steps into the room. The room seems more alive now, most of the people, who had been sleeping earlier, are awake and talking with friends or using the training dummies on the far side of the room. There are also people from the tavern. My anxiety at being around so many people is still there, but my exhaustion numbs it slightly, making everything seem hazy.

Looking around the room, I try to find a bed that looks as if it hasn't been slept in for a while. I realize that the bed to my right seems to be unused; it lacks blankets or pillows for that matter.

_It's still a bed though, _I think with a sigh. There's a chest at the foot of it, dust coating its lid. Unsheathing my dagger, I place it on top of the bed, wanting to keep at least one weapon with me. Then I remove my sword belt.

Opening the chest, I stifle a sneeze as dust floats into the air. I lay the sword belt as well as my 'borrowed' money on the bottom slowly, and then hesitate. Though the chest has a lock, I don't have the key to lock it with. I'm sure any of the thieves in here could pick the lock anyways, but leaving it unlocked seems to practically be inviting them to take from it.

"You can trust us; we don't steal from fellow thieves," a voice says behind me, causing me to jump. I whirl around and come face to face with one of the thieves from the tavern. He has shaggy brown hair, and the lower half of his face is covered in stubble. "The name's Rune," he says, extending his hand. After a moment I realize he wants to shake, and take his hand. I probably don't hold on nearly long enough, but I did my best.

"I'm Callista," I say as an after thought. He introduced himself, so I should do the same right?

Rune nods with a smile. "So you can talk," he says with exaggerated shock. I smile weakly at him. He takes this as an encouragement to keep talking. "You want to come meet the rest of us? You're part of the family now after all." I can't help looking at the bed forlornly, and the other thief seems to get the message. "Right, you're tired. Well feel free to join us for some drinks any time," he says with a huge grin.

"Thanks," I say. The relief is palpable in my voice. Rune wanders back over to a few of the other thieves with a shrug as they glance my way and then back at him.

I turn back to the chest, shutting the lid. Then I climb onto the bed slowly, the beginning of stiffness in my muscles. Laying my head on my arm, my eyes finally drop closed. Sleep takes over my mind, bringing new dreams with it.


End file.
